Normal Again
by Richard Bachman
Summary: COMPLETED; based on the episode Normal Again. Instead of Buffy, Spike was poisoned by the demon and his consciousness was transported into an alternative reality where he found himself incarcerated in an asylum.
1. Act 1 Well, at least she cared

TITLE: "Normal again" (1/?)  
AUTHOR: Richard Bachman  
EMAIL: bachman_rchard@hotmail.com

SITE: nope  
FEEDBACK: Give it to me luv, you know you want more of this!

DISTRIBUTION: Do whatever you like poodle. As long as Richard is mentioned I'm fine.

RATING: NC-17 Humor/angst  
PAIRING: B/S  
SUMMARY: Got this wonderful idea after watching normal again. Instead of Buffy, Spike gets a dose of demonic goodness inserted into his system. As his consciousness is transported to an AU where he finds Sunnydale is no longer the good old Sunnyhell he despises and knows so well, things are getting a bit surreal for the poor bleached wonder. 

WARNING: This fic is dark and ansty but I suppose that we kinda got used to it after watching whole bleedin S6. 

THANKS: To anyone for reading my senseless dribble. 

CHARACTERS: expect some Spike and Buffy interaction here. 

  
  
  


ACT 1: Well, at least she cared…

I'm not here to see her tonight. I'm not gonna walk up and talk to her. I'm just gonna follow her till she gets to the nerds lair. Watch her a bit. If she gets herself into trouble at least I will be here to watch her back. Throw a couple of migraines at the little wankers before she gets all pissed and tells me to sod off again. 

I snorted, disgusted at the fact that even my inner voice was turning sarcastic on me and tossed away the burning bud that I had held between my lips for the last 10 minutes. It landed on the small pile of casualties in front of my feet. 34 buds; 12 Marlboros, 15 Barclays and 7 Bristols, since they were on special offer. I didn't want to smoke that crap till I've finished everything else that was decent, but "strolling along" with the slayer every night made me nervous, compelling me to lit one fag after another, keeping the chimney smoking. Since my packs of smokes were getting finished so quickly nowadays, switching over to a cheaper brand seemed to be a good idea, till you actually have to smoke that bloody shit that is. 

On the open dark street, the small but lithe form of my Slayer finally appeared around the corner. I disappeared into the shadows where I had been waiting for her to turn up after her briefing with the Scoobies. As she was walking along and I stalked behind her, I noticed that she was holding two pieces of stapled-together paper that she studied intensively. 

So the slayer got the address of the three Nerds of Doom whereabouts. Probably from Red with her rediscovered computer cleverness. Good. That should make things easier for her.

I stopped walking when she halted. She frowned at the paper and looked up at a nearby house, then walked toward it. I followed but hesitated as she crossed the street. Better wait here in the dark till she was at the other site. Following her immediately into the broad streetlights might just give away my lurking habits too easily. 

She peered into a couple of windows. Then walked around the ruin a couple of times. I was convinced that the place was deserted. The Nerds must have already packed and fled the place, smelling the Scoobs tagging their tails. Rats do tend to have a bleedin good sense of smell. Just as I was going to call it a night and was roaming in my duster for a new pack of smokes, a strange sound bellowing through the house like a rancid mountain deer caught our attention. Buffy disappeared once again behind the building, followed by a curious and not-so-careful-to-be-seen-anymore vampire. 

Turning the corner and facing a dirty alley, I was just in time to see her being ambushed by a pissed off glarghk guhl kashma'nik. A bloody ugly one too if you asked me. The Slayer, with her back turned, was too occupied with thinking up a good punch line to notice that I was even there. 

"You didn't by chance happen to just eat a couple of nerds, did you?"

Winching mentally at her sad excuse for an attempt at being miss smart mouth, I watched warily as the demon took a swing at her. She leaned back and avoided it. It swung again and then tried a roundhouse kick, which my little Goldylocks ducked underneath. Blocking a punch and punching it in the stomach, she then administrated one of her own trademark Slayer kicks, and sent the poor bugger flying against the wall. 

Well done Luv.

The demon was back for round two within secs and hit her to the ground. It grabbed her and threw her against a car. She landed on the hood, making that tiny little squeaking noise that used to turn me on so badly, when I'm the one who made her squeak that was, not some gory and disgusting demon. I decided that I've just seen enough Slayer bashing for tonight and threw myself at our large scaly friend, sending him rolling over the pavement. I got on top of it and served a couple of well - aimed punches into his ugly mug, pinning his lethal arms down with my Docs. 

"Spike! What are you doing here?"

"What does it look like luv?" I sneered, trying to defend myself against her plain annoyance that I noticed in her voice. "I'm helping you out here."

"I don't need your help. Now get off of my demon so I can do my job."

"No can do." I panted while turning the already gruesome features of the kashma'nik into something that was coming closely to resemble a plate full of mashed greens. "Having too much fun right now. Need my violence before bedtime."

Done with saying that, the bloody wanker of a glarghk demon got me off guard for a sec and headbanged me. Seeing more stars then Dru in her most elusive moments, I backed off and got punched in the stomach. Roaring and drooling, the demon got up and was about to remove my head from my brainstem for ruining his smouldering good looks, when the Slayer jumped off the hood of the car and airkicked it full in its chest. 

Punch, kick, dodge, dodge, punch. The demon went down and she spun around in full defensive battle pose.

"You were stalking me again, weren't you?"

Annoyance in her voice had made way for anger. She looked at me with that other Buffy trademark, the hurt and accusing stare. Great, just what I needed.

"No! I was not stalking you!" Trying to sound offended here. " What do you think I am? A sodding creep?" 

The demon tried to hit the Slayer's legs but she jumped up, crouched on the hood and kicked it again. Getting off the car with one majestic flip, she picked up a metal garbage can and slammed it on the demon.

"Spike! You went into my house last year and stole my clothes to do whatever disturbing things with it! You kept a sexbot in your crypt that looked just like me and you even built me whole freaky shrine! If that doesn't define your behaviour as creepy then I really don't know what does!"

"I was just making sure you wouldn't get your ass kicked too much without me or the Scoobies around." I tried. "Getting your Double Medley served by a girl behind the counter who looks like she had been part of the meat process isn't exactly appetizing."

"Spike, shut up."

The demon shoved the garbage can out of her hands, then hit her in the face. She spun around and ended up with her face pressed against the car window. The demon grabbed her from behind, but she spun around again and kicked it, and the demon reeled backwards, crashing with its head through the window. 

A wave of panic shot through me as my eyes caught the glimpse of a long thin bony structure spurting out of its knuckles.

Bleeldin hell. She didn't know…

"Buffy! Watch out for his hands!"

"Huh?"

The demon struggled his head and shoulders out of the busted car window. She tried to grab its arms but he elbowed her off, turned around, grabbed her and locked her tightly against its body. 

Then it raised its spiked hand towards her, ready to strike. 

Rage and anxiety boiling in my stomach, I launched myself at the monster, knocking it down. Pinning his stabby limb on the pavement with one hand, I used the other to urgently convince him to let go of her. It growled animalisticly as I planted jolt after jolt on his bloody marble googly eyes. His grasp receded, and the Slayer managed to struggle free. As she was getting on her feet again, I suddenly realized that with not having to hold on to her, mister stab-a- lot had his other hand free to do whatever he bloody liked. 

"Spike! Watch out!"

I turned around a sec too late and saw how the second spike burst out of the demon's knuckles, right into my stomach, penetrating my flesh and ripping though my organs. 

"Spike?! Spike!"

I gasped, hot searing pain shooting through my body. Collapsing on the spot with my hands reaching for the burning wound I got tossed aside by the demon. My head hit the pavement while the slayer's screams rang in my ears. 

"Spike! Spike! Are you alright?!"

Well luv, the moaning and uncontrolled shaking should pretty much tell you that I really wasn't.

"You are not going to get away with this!"

Anger was vibrating in her suddenly low and dangerous voice. Surprised, I blinked my eyes. So she was going to kill the demon for hurting her favourite fucktoy. Some part of me was actually shouting out of happiness to know that she at least cared, but another should we say more lucid part was yelling something completely different. Put that bint's temper on a leash! Don't let her turn the big green into mash yet! My mind raced, fighting against the white flashes of a scattering pain that took over my body, but I couldn't figure out with the mush that was now my brains why she shouldn't kill the bleeding demon scum. I just knew she shouldn't. She really shouldn't if I wanted to get out of this one alive.

"Buff… Don't…just don't…"

My tongue was getting useless, sitting in my throat like a sluggish snail. My mouth refused to form words. Alarmed, I tried to lift my head off the pavement, only to be greeted by a headache that made a zap from the bleedin chip feel like a Disneyland funride. World spinning, I still overheard the slayer conducting her wrath on the kashma'nik as the snapping of bones and breaking of skulls indicated that she was really not trying to hold back.

Bloody hell Spike. This time you're really, really buggered. 

Then, all of my senses started to shut down. Pain receded, leaving my body numbed. The noises of combat faded away. Her voice seemed to be far away too, though I knew she was no longer yelling or screaming. The scent of her rage and perspiration was no longer there. Finally, the images of her fighting off the demon, blurry first, deteriorated fast into pitch-black darkness. 

TBC.


	2. ACT 2: White is NOT my favourite colour

TITLE: "Normal again" (2/?)  
  
AUTHOR: Richard Bachman  
  
EMAIL: bachman_rchard@hotmail.com  
  
SITE: nope  
  
FEEDBACK: Give it to me luv, you know you want more of this!  
  
DISTRIBUTION: Do whatever you like poodle. As long as Richard is mentioned I'm fine.  
  
RATING: NC-17 Humor/angst  
  
PAIRING: B/S  
  
SUMMARY: Got this wonderful idea after watching normal again. Instead of Buffy, Spike gets a dose of demonic goodness inserted into his system. As his consciousness is transported to an AU where he finds Sunnydale is no longer the good old Sunnyhell he despises and knows so well, things are getting a bit surreal for the poor bleached wonder.  
  
WARNING: Dark and ansty fic, but I suppose that we kinda got used to it after watching whole bleedin S6.  
  
THANKS: To anyone for reading my senseless dribble.  
  
CHARACTERS: Spike and Buffy, separated by dimensions.  
  
  
  
  
  
ACT 2: White is NOT my favourite colour.  
  
  
  
SCENE 1  
  
Flashes of bright white danced in front of my eyes.  
  
Strange sounds invading the silence; hectic voices, and there was some bleedin wanker screaming like a girl.  
  
More white as I opened my eyes. White walls, white ceiling, white floor.  
  
Bloody hell, what his this place?  
  
"OK now friend! Cool down! You're gonna hurt yourself!"  
  
"Mike! It's no good, he's gonna break the needle."  
  
I gasped as I felt a sharp stinging sensation receding out of my left arm. For some reason, the nancy who had been yelling murder shut up immediately.  
  
"Get him over to the bed and strap him down."  
  
"No! No! Get off me you bleedin gits! Sod off! I don't want to be stabbed with that! It's bad! It's poison! Get away from me!!"  
  
The nancy was back again, yelling, struggling and panting.  
  
~ Bloody hell, was that me screaming all this shit? ~  
  
I looked at myself, horrified. Somehow, my duster, black shirt and jeans have been nicked and were exchanged for a plain minging grey shirt and baggy trousers in the same peachy colour. Two beefy guys were holding me by my arms and dragged me to an uncomfy looking bed in the middle of the white overkill. Struggling like a professional nutcase, I snapped my head around and spat at one of them. The guy pulled a disgusted face and tossed me on the mattress, pinning down both my hands with my arms stretched above my head.  
  
"Mike, secure his wrists! Secure them now!"  
  
I whimpered and begged them to let me go. Tears stinging my eyes. Panic searing through my throat. Something was horribly wrong here. Something was absolutely as wrong as eating kittens in front of little Nibblet's eyes for breakfast.  
  
~ What was wrong with me? Why was I so freakin scared and begging like a bloody poof? ~  
  
They ignored me of course, and strapped my wrists with a set of leather restrains to the steel cased bed. When they tried to do the same to my ankles, I kicked like a pissed off mule, but one of the Florence Nightingales grabbed them after being hit in the chest twice and pinned them down by leaning his whole bleedin weight on them. I wager the bugger was finally getting enough of my inventive ways to piss them off. My mad ramblings were soon replaced by mad screaming when the sharp pain of bones threatening to snap clawed up my legs. Once again they ignored me and even jerked on the leather straps to make sure they were extra secured. I struggled against my restrains, still whimpering like a bloody poof, then finally gave up and let them tie me up. Two heavy leather belts were secured around waist and with that done, I was as only able to wriggle a bit and move my head. Deadly humiliated and agonizingly frustrated, I watched how the two tossers reach for that bleedin needle again.  
  
"Now hold still, this is for your own good. "  
  
No! I yelled. Don't do this to me! But the sharp stinging sensation was back again as the needle penetrated the skin. Akwardly, It didn't hurt as much as I dreaded, and soon a dull blanket of numbness replaced the unpleasant feeling.  
  
~ Oh god, this was exactly like the time when Dru and I went to Woodstock and fed too much on the happy locals. Only far less amusing this time. ~  
  
Feeling the wetness of tears that had stained my cheeks unnoticed and swallowing hard, I listened to the soft voices droning around me, trying to calm me down and put me at ease. Then they were gone and I was left alone to stare at the bleedin white ceiling while I was tripping on whatever they had injected into me.  
  
It could have been good though, this total numbness and fogginess that cluttered everything. I was too paralysed to feel any pain, and it was impossible to hold on to even one single coherent thought, not even one about the Slayer. For the first time since I had that Bloody-awful Buffy-is- shagging-me nightmare my mind was cleared. The hurting was gone, leaving me in an almost serine state of just being, just existing, very much like I used to before everything went to hell because of her. I could stay here, lying in this sterile room, tied up like a bleedin dog and keeping myself busy for the next 100 odd years with looking for shapes of horsies and puppies in the ceiling creaks. Receiving a nice dose of peace of mind every 24 hours a day.  
  
I could let time slip by unnoticed if it wasn't for that bloody awful feeling in the pit of my stomach that told me that time, wasn't exactly something that I had plenty of.  
  
  
  
SCENE 2  
  
The slayer knew that the demon was already beaten. It would take no more but a couple of simple jolts to make whatever was left of it to stagger from its feet and hit the ground. But the Slayer was taken by rage. She felt more hatred towards the heinous creature swaying in front of her then towards any other demon she had ever encountered. Well, maybe except for Glory, or Adam. Or Spike that time he kidnapped Angel and tried to bleed him dry to cure his insane girlfriend. The thought of the blond vampire reminded her how the demon had tossed him aside like ragged doll after piercing him with his gruesome poky things, which by the way, were now harmless since she had broken both its arms and snapped the offensive protuberances off the paralysed limbs. The deadly wounded demon howled, sounding more in pain than in mad murderous anger. But Buffy was beyond sympathy. With one fluid movement, she picked up the lid of a garbage can, spun around and slashed the demon's head clean off its shoulders. Still wearing the rather surprised look on its ruined face, it hit the ground with a dull thump and rolled towards the unconscious body of the fallen vampire, halting in front of his black Docs.  
  
Buffy, panting of exhaustion, moved over to Spike warily, her face wearing a serious frown.  
  
"Spike?"  
  
She crouched beside him, turning his body around. She had hoped to meet his fiery piercing eyes, but they were closed. The gaping wound in his abdomen covered his shirt in blood, but it was barely visible within the black of the fabric. Only when she placed her hands on him and shook him carefully, did she notice how much he had bled. Her white hands tainted deep red.  
  
"Oh my God. Spike! Please! Wake up!"  
  
Shaking him more ferociously now without gaining any sign of life out of him, she swallowed hard, her throat suddenly dry.  
  
Flashes of memories, her mother lying on her back on the sofa, her face as pale as his and eyes staring at the ceiling, looking at nothing in particular.  
  
He couldn't be.dead?  
  
~Of course he's dead. He's the living undead, remember? Vampires won't die like mom did. She was human. He is not. As long as he doesn't turn to dust in my hands, he's still here. Don't start panicking now and play the stupid bint here. ~  
  
She flinched mentally, hearing her inner voice of reason adapting the vampire's offensive tune. Slowly, she got up and collected herself. She must get Spike away from this place and fast. Dead demons attracted others of its kind, who mainly regarded their dead comrades as yummy treats. Buffy knew so because Giles had told her after she had asked him what the hell happened to all the dead demon corpses that they left behind after slaying, since they didn't go POOF! like the vampires. She had been totally freaked out after the watcher told her, she didn't want to use the dismembered demon bits scattered around here as a bait to test out that textbook knowledge.  
  
Carefully, she picked up the wounded vampire, swaying his arm over her shoulders and steadying his unconscious form with her free hand. His head hung heavy over his chest while his feet dragged over the ground, as she carried him out of the alley.  
  
Pushing back her anxiety into the tiny dark corner in the back of her mind like she had done so many times before in her happy Slayer life, she whispered softly some reassuring words to the blond vampire. Just in case he could still hear her.  
  
"Don't worry Spike. I will get Willow to take a look at you. I will make sure that you'll be all right. Just.just don't turn to dust on me, OK?"  
  
  
  
SCENE 3  
  
~ Bloody hell, I'm dust this time. ~  
  
I was struggling feverishly against my restrains. It didn't help much since I couldn't manage to even rip the thin leather bands strapped around my wrist to pieces, let alone the thick belt around my waist. Oh this was rich! Not only was I in some kind of madhouse, being treated like one of the loons who belonged here with all my unexpected an unwanted whining an whimpering, I lost all of my vampire strengths too. Gritting my teeth, I let out a ragged roar, frustrated with my incapability to free myself from my would-be execution place.  
  
Outside my private nutcase's quarters, it was a beautiful sunny day with a heaven blue sky.  
  
I could tell it was b'cause I could see it through the bleedin window.  
  
I woke up this morning, not with the sun on my face but I bloody well could. The wankers of last night had shifted me to another room while I was catatonic or the other room had shifted to me or whatever. Wouldn't surprise me since this was such a fucked up place anyway. The point was that the room I currently was in had a window.  
  
A very big window.  
  
And some sadistic clown had parted the lovely white curtains.  
  
I swallowed as I lifted my head for the one hundred and forty fourth time this morning, anxiously watching the broad band of sunlight traveling over the dirty checker floor, coming toward me ever closer. Soon it would start to crawl up the bed. I had figured out with my sick sense of curiosity that it would probably start with the toes of my left foot, slowly heating it up till it became so hot that it combusted and burst into flames. Then it would leave a burning trail of destruction all over my legs. Those bleedin trousers I was wearing were so thin that they were almost translucent and wouldn't be enough to protect me. By the time it reached my face, the deadly sun must had already burnt half of my organs to ashes, so I would probably don't have to worry anymore about my brains getting fried or my eyeballs getting boiled. There had to be a limit to the damage an immortal body like mine can receive before it gave up and dispatched itself in the draft.  
  
My god, please let there be a limit.  
  
When the beam threatened to start its incinerating ways on my foot, I finally opened my mouth and burst into some mad screaming while banging my head against the steel headboard. It helped, and someone came rushing in, throwing the door shut behind.  
  
"William, please stop this. Stop it! You're hurting yourself!"  
  
A female voice. Probably a nurse. She sounded sincere and reasonable enough, but I was in blind panic.  
  
"Can't! Window! Sunlight! I don't want to burn. Put a bloody stake trough my heart if you like but not this. Not this!!"  
  
Hands pushed me back against the headboard, forcing me to stop my banging. But I didn't bloody want to, the banging was all that kept me a bit sane here, at least I got some of the nervousness distracted from my immobilized body which was itching to jump out of bed and crawl away in a dark corner.  
  
"Don't do this you bloody bint! Don't you see what's going to happen? Sunlight there. Vampire here. We don't bloody mix very well!!"  
  
"William! Calm down. There is no need to."  
  
"There is bloody well need to bang my head on the bloody bed b'cause I'm gonna be burned alive within a couple of seconds!!  
  
"No! Listen to me William, listen to me! You're delusional! Sunlight won't hurt you! You're not a vampire! Calm down!"  
  
"Get me the hell out of here!!!!"  
  
She pulled her hands off me. A small and slim human figure dressed in a white dress and shirt. She walked over to the window and grab hold of one of the curtains.  
  
~Oh thank God, she finally figured it out through her thick skull. ~  
  
"William, I want you to look at me. Look at me or I will not close these curtains for you."  
  
I blinked my eyes. As long as she had been in the room, I hadn't glanced at her once, being too occupied by my own dreads of death. Call me mister Selfish. I didn't even have a freakin idea how she looked like. Now that the bint was standing directly in the threatening sunlight, it was even harder to convince myself to raise my chin and take a good gaze at her.  
  
"William? Are you listening?"  
  
"yeah. I'm listening. Sounds fair enough. I look at you and you make the sun go away. Deal."  
  
"Now then."  
  
Reluctantly, and with eyes watering of staring directly into the blazing sunlight framing the girl, I gazed up slowly.  
  
There, standing in front of the freaking window, dressed like a nurse and wearing a deadly concerned look on her face, stood the Slayer.  
  
My mouth dropped open.  
  
"B-Buffy?"  
  
Fast as lightening, she pulled the curtains completely open, flooding the room with a sea of bright sunlight.  
  
  
  
TBC. 


	3. ACT 3 Don't tell me it's time for a grou...

TITLE: "Normal again" (3/?)  
  
AUTHOR: Richard Bachman  
  
EMAIL: bachman_rchard@hotmail.com  
  
SITE: nope  
  
FEEDBACK: Give it to me luv, you know you want more of this!  
  
DISTRIBUTION: Do whatever you like poodle. As long as Richard is mentioned I'm fine.  
  
RATING: NC-17 Humor/angst  
  
PAIRING: B/S  
  
SUMMARY: Got this wonderful idea after watching normal again. Instead of Buffy, Spike gets a dose of demonic goodness inserted into his system. As his consciousness is transported to an AU where he finds Sunnydale is no longer the good old Sunnyhell he despises and knows so well, things are getting a bit surreal for the poor bleached wonder.  
  
WARNING: This fic is dark and ansty, but I suppose that we kinda got used to it after watching whole bleedin S6.  
  
THANKS: To anyone for reading my senseless dribble.  
  
CHARACTERS: Spike and Buffy. Spike and Giles. And hey, even the big Poof is here!  
  
  
  
  
  
ACT 3: Don't tell me it's time for a bloody group hug.  
  
  
  
SCENE 1  
  
"Somebody! Give me a hand, please!"  
  
Willow, who had been staring blankly at the monitor of her laptop for hours now after her disappointing encounter with Tara previously, was startled by the loud cry for help and jumped right out of her chair.  
  
"Buffy?"  
  
As she was running down the hallway and into the kitchen, the sound of scattering kitchenware on the tiled floor made her heart beat faster in her chest. Horrible scenarios of what could have happened now crossed through the witch's mind; Did Buffy get seriously wounded? Was Xander found? Was he wounded? Was Dawn in trouble again? Or did something awful happen to Tara?"  
  
"What's wrong Buffy, are you hurt?"  
  
Glancing into the room, her sense of dread increased as she saw how her best friend's white sweater was all covered in blood.  
  
"Buffy! Are you – "  
  
"It's not me Willow. It's Spike. A demon stabbed him. I don't know what's wrong with him, but he doesn't seem to wake up. "  
  
Willow took her gaze off the horrified and concerned look on her friend's face and finally noticed the unconscious vampire lying on the cleared cooking island, his arms dangling limply over the borders like strings of soft pastry.  
  
"B-But the b-blood. On your hands…"  
  
"It's his. Will, I really need you to take a look at him. Now! Please!"  
  
Willow was surprised as a very persistent Slayer, who was visibly at the brink of her nerves, pushed her towards the wounded vampire.  
  
" OK Buffy, Don't panic now. I-I see what I can do."  
  
She cut open the vampire's shirt, and took a good look at the wound. It was indeed very nasty and deep, and it was no wonder that Spike had lost so much blood since there were whole internal organs ripped apart and arteries ruptured. But it was not something that a vampire couldn't recover from. As a matter of fact, she had seen Spike even more injured directly after their battle with Glory, and even then he was able to stumble back to his crypt and show up a couple of days later at Buffy's funeral.  
  
"There's nothing in there that cannot be healed. Though this unconsciousness thing is really strange."  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"Well, to be honest to you, I thought, you know, he just passed out because of his injuries. But then –"  
  
She pulled up one of Spike's eyelids and shone with a flashlight right into his eye.  
  
" – He seems to be very out. I mean, he's has no reflexes at all and his pupils are so dilated that they almost cover most of his eyeballs. Geez, it's like he's drugged or something."  
  
"Drugged?"  
  
Buffy's seemingly permanent frown lifted for a moment as she stared at the wicca with disbelief.  
  
" Uh, well not in the direct sense of the word, but I think that the nasty demon he was fighting had somehow injected him with somekind of poison. Some species tend to have a well-developed toxic selfdefence system. "  
  
Willow gazed up at Buffy, who was just standing there motionless with the roll of bandages in her hand. Her eyes didn't trail off from the vampire's face.  
  
"Will he be OK?"  
  
"I don't know Buffy. The wound will heal but I need to do some research on the demon that stabbed him if he's indeed poisoned. Can you tell me how it looked like?"  
  
Her friend nodded. Frown back on its place.  
  
"It was all my fault." She whispered.  
  
Sensing something very odd in her behaviour, the worried wicca was about to ask her what was really going on here, but then the doorbell rang at the other side of the house.  
  
"I get it. You take care of him. "  
  
Buffy shoved the roll into Willow's hands and headed off toward the hallway.  
  
  
  
SCENE 2  
  
"William? William? Can you hear me?"  
  
Someone was shining a flashlight in my eyes and I squinted. I wanted to turn my head away from the offensive brightness and hide somewhere dark, but I was held back.  
  
"William. Don't fight this. Look at me."  
  
~ No thanks mate, last time someone as hazy as you asked me to do this, I was treated on a nice hot sunbath. Don't need any of that right now. Really. ~  
  
"William, look at me son! Don't go back there."  
  
The wanker was getting impatient and grabbed my chin, forcing my head up to make me stare at him.  
  
"Sod off!"  
  
"Look at me and I will leave you alone."  
  
I figured what the hack and opened my eyes.  
  
I was huddled in a corner of another room, also soddin white as expected, but one without a lethally big window for a change. A man wearing a white doctor's coat was squatting down in front of me. His face was once again awfully familiar, proving my point that this all have to be one bloody awful nightmare.  
  
"Very good. Now stay with us William. Tell me, do you know where you are?"  
  
I must have gazed at the guy who was wearing the Watcher's features and speaking in the Watcher's voice with a rich mixture of unbelief, shock and plain horror on my face, b'cause the soddin git figured I was "lost" again and started whacking me.  
  
"William?!" Slap. "William!" Slap. "Don't go back there son!" Slap "None of that is real! Slap. Do you hear me?" Slap.  
  
"Heee! Stop that! It bloody hurts!"  
  
The Watcher annex doctor Mengele backed up after which I quickly put my hands on my burning cheeks, just in case the wanker tried again.  
  
"Oh Good. I mean, no. Um I'm really sorry for this."  
  
I shot the bugger a nasty look.  
  
"But it's good that you can feel something that is real."  
  
I could feel something all right. Dread, confusion, and pain. None of that was ranking particularly high on my top ten must-experience-that-one! list.  
  
"What is this?" Sounding as pissed off as possible.  
  
"You don't know where you are?"  
  
"If I know I don't have to ask."  
  
The watcher lifted his glasses and cleared his throat, visibly not at ease.  
  
"You are in a mental institution William. You've been with us for the past five years. Don't you remember?"  
  
I shook my head in extreme confusion. What was he rambling about?  
  
"You can't remember anything?"  
  
"No! This is just not right. I can't have been here for the last five years. I was in bloody Sunnydale!"  
  
"Oh, but it's good that you do remember Sunnydale Will -"  
  
"And stop calling me William! It's Spike! Evil soulless vampire? The Big bad? Remember? What the bleedin hell is wrong with you people?"  
  
"That is not real William! You're not a vampire. You are suffering from delusions."  
  
"Well, that's what your Slayer told me as well before she tried to burn me alive."  
  
"Slayer? Oh, that's miss Summers, right?"  
  
I nodded hesitatingly, wary of his strange reply.  
  
"Yeah, her. The small, blond and egocentric one. I wager you don't mean Dawn that is."  
  
"Dawn? Um. How do you know – "  
  
Now it was the doc's turn to gaze at me as if I had lost my bleedin mind, which of course was exactly the whole issue here.  
  
"Um, yes. I guess I must apologize for Buffy's behaviour. She was reckless to just confront you head on with your condition like that. I spoke to her about it and she saw the wrong in her previous actions. Please don't be angry with her. She meant well."  
  
"She wanted me gone." I whispered, and pulled my legs up against my chest. Suddenly the fog that had clouded my mind ever since I woke up in this hellish place cleared and the first well-known strikes of heartache returned. Oh balls, just what I asked for.  
  
"I thought she needed me,"  
  
"William. Buffy was only trying to help. We are all here trying to help you. You have been terribly ill."  
  
"I have?" For some stupid reason, my voice was trembling.  
  
"Yes. But it's going to get better now. You have to keep yourself grounded in reality. Don't return to that other Sunnydale with the monsters and problems you hate and loathe so much. They are not real, only figments of your delusional mind. Stay here with us, and we will make sure that you will fully recover."  
  
I panted in distress, strange feelings swirling in my stomach, my eyes fighting against a good bawl.  
  
"Oh, that would be nice for a change."  
  
The watcher smiled sincerely. He came to sit next to me, and patted on my shoulders till I composed myself a bit. I couldn't help but think back at the time he shoved me against the wall at the Magic Box after the Scoobs found out I told Buffy what I felt for her. The man had been full of hatred, almost able in wishing me dead only by staring at me in disgust. Now the wanker was sitting here, trying to comfort the disgusting soulless vampire who had tried to get to his Slayer? Bloody hell, and he's trying to convince me that all this was real?  
  
"Better now?"  
  
I nodded. Not knowing exactly if that really was the case at all.  
  
"Now then William, I want you to meet someone. Please come with me."  
  
  
  
SCENE 3  
  
"I came as soon as I heard the good news. God, I still can't believe it. Four years and eight months. I almost gave up on him."  
  
"Don't say that. You have never given up on him. You came here every weekend and every Holliday to visit. And you only handed him over to us when it became impossible for you to take care of him yourself. That's not giving up."  
  
"Yes, but everything has gone to hell all the same, hasn't it? I should have been here for him, perhaps then we didn't have to wait for five fucking years to get him back. "  
  
He kicked the chair next to him in boiled up frustration. Buffy looked up, startled.  
  
"It's not your fault mister Byron."  
  
"Oh really?"  
  
They were sitting across each other at the desk in Giles's office. An awkward silence hung in the air, as both of them didn't know what to say for the moment.  
  
Finally, the dark haired man gathered enough of his courage to ask her the one question that had spooked through his mind ever since he picked up their phone call.  
  
"Does he remember anything, about the accident?"  
  
She shook her head.  
  
There was a slight sign of relief on the handsome man's features that before was mainly shrouded by guilt and visible pain.  
  
"Perhaps it would be better for him not to."  
  
Puzzled by his remark, but seeing no need to upset him even more by asking any further, Buffy was relieved to see Giles enter the room with William, who was still walking rather unsteadily on his legs.  
  
"Hee, look who we got here! Doctor Giles and William!"  
  
William's face changed when he got sight of her and it made her flinch inwardly. He didn't trust her; she noticed the hurt on his face and the accusing stare in his piercing blue eyes made very clear that he rather wasn't in the same room with her.  
  
Perhaps now was a good time to apologize.  
  
"Look William. I'm sorry for the curtain thing. It was stupid and careless of me. But, I didn't do it to be mean or anything. Honest. "  
  
~I just thought it would be better to rip away the bandages in one strip then to peel it off layer by layer. Didn't realize you could freak out like that. ~  
  
She felt rather irritated and hurt when the blond young man ignored her and turned all his attention to the wooden chair that Giles offered him. Once he was seated, he noticed the taller man sitting next to him, and blinked his eyes a couple of times in amazement.  
  
~ Good, at least he seems to recognize his family. That should keep him off the whole "I'm a Big Bad vampire holding a grudge" obsession. ~  
  
Buffy took a seat at the site of her mentor and watched their patient carefully, looking for a sign of recognition on his puzzled face.  
  
"Bleedin hell! What are you doing here you big poof?"  
  
Upset, mister Byron didn't know exactly how to answer him for a moment.  
  
"Um, Will? It's me. Liam. Don't you remember me?"  
  
William arched an eyebrow, then looked around at the three of them. If Buffy didn't know better, she would say that there was indeed a sign of recognition in his eyes. One accompanied with full-scale horror and disgust that was.  
  
"Hang on here! I know what you are up to! This is a bleedin joke isn't it? Are the Scoobs somewhere? Hiding behind the doors and laughing their heads of? Where is the whelp?"  
  
"Will, I don't know what you are talking about."  
  
"Oh shut up. Why did you come back from LA for anyway? I thought you were too busy with brooding over your gypsy soul. "  
  
"Stop this William, we are not here to do ridicule you or put you in any kind of situation to make you feel uncomfortable. We are just here to help you, remember?"  
  
"Oh yeah? Well, then what is he doing here then? Don't tell me he just happened to drop by on one of the most humiliating moments of my whole bleedin unlife."  
  
"Please calm down Will! I'm here because I care about you. You're my little brother and I've promised dad to look after you."  
  
She thought it was not possible, but the rambling young man's face turned even a shade whiter then he already was after the words sank into him.  
  
"No! Oh No! NO! NO! We're not brothers. We can't be! You're a vampire! You're angel!"  
  
Buffy noticed the frown on her mentor's face that grew tighter with every word their patient spoke. Soon he would be taking off his glasses and rubbing then clean on his coat frantically. She hoped he wouldn't have to because once that happened, things were really starting to look grim.  
  
"Angel? Who is Angel?"  
  
Liam Byron looked confused at the two medical experts, who are now trying hopelessly to keep their composure to look professional.  
  
"Um, that's his imaginary Grand Sire if I'm not mistaken, the master of his Clan. He seems to think that this mythical creature of darkness has a rather striking resemble to you mister Byron."  
  
Liam sighed and tried to calm his little brother by placing his hand on his shoulders, but William brushed it away feverishly, as though he believed that the reality of his kin's unwelcome presence was somehow contagious.  
  
"Get your soddin hands off me!"  
  
"Will, please. You're scaring the hell out of everybody."  
  
"What do you want Angel? Did you hear that I got chipped? Did Dru tell you? And now what, you came her to take care of me now I'm a neutered vamp and unable to defend myself against these pesky humans. Is that it? Well sod off and go back to LA! You left Dru and me ages ago and we don't need you anymore!"  
  
"William please."  
  
"OK this is getting totally out of hand. Let me get someone. "  
  
Buffy left behind the desk and spurted out of the room to find help. She bumped into Mike and with the help of the sturdy orderly she managed to restrain the out of control patient. She injected a dose of narcotic into his arm to help him calm down. William sank back into his chair in quicker then a minute, holding a million yard away look in his eyes.  
  
"Will? Will!"  
  
"Um William?"  
  
Giles waved his hand in front of the young man's eyes; there was very little response. He took the tiny flashlight out of his pockets and shone in his pupils. Still no reaction.  
  
"Buffy."  
  
The senior assistant stared at the doctor with a guilty look on her face.  
  
"Let's see to it that we don't administrate heavy drugs to patients with previous catatonic disorders from now on, shall we."  
  
  
  
TBC 


	4. ACT 4 Seizures, blackouts and odd flavou...

NOTE: Still looking for a beta reader here. Can someone please help me out?  
  
  
  
TITLE: "Normal again" (4/?)  
  
AUTHOR: Richard Bachman  
  
EMAIL: bachman_rchard@hotmail.com  
  
SITE: nope  
  
FEEDBACK: Give it to me luv, you know you want more of this!  
  
DISTRIBUTION: Do whatever you like poodle. As long as Richard is mentioned I'm fine.  
  
RATING: NC-17 Humor/angst  
  
PAIRING: B/S  
  
SUMMARY: Got this wonderful idea after watching normal again. Instead of Buffy, Spike gets a dose of demonic goodness inserted into his system. As his consciousness is transported to an AU where he finds Sunnydale is no longer the good old Sunnyhell he despises and knows so well, things are getting a bit surreal for the poor bleached wonder.  
  
WARNING: This fic describes scenes of rape, and is dark and ansty but I suppose that we kinda got used to it after watching whole bleedin S6.  
  
THANKS: To anyone for reading my senseless dribble. Love you guys. You truly make me waste my weekends worthwhile!  
  
CHARACTERS: Spike and Dawn interaction (Which is always good), and AU Buffy is struggling with an unconscious William.  
  
  
  
ACT 4; Being subjected to sudden seizures of blackouts in combination with consuming large quantities of odd flavoured milkshakes means pretty much that you're a hazard to yourself and your direct environment.  
  
  
  
SCENE 1  
  
It was quiet in Joyce's bedroom. Even the old, rudely loud clock hanging on the wall above the vanity mirror seemed to have improved on his behaviour. Dawn hardly noticed the time ticking by. She sat on her mother's bed, carefully watching a well-attended vampire.  
  
It might have been imagination, or her own craving to see him getting better, but there seemed to be a slight change in his features which had been deadly motionless for over hours now.  
  
Spike's eyelids were trembling.  
  
"Spike, can you hear me? It's Dawn!"  
  
She wondered if he was dreaming. Can vampires dream anyway? She made a quick mental note to ask him as soon as he got better. The teenager was one hundred percent sure he would. Buffy and the others won't let him just slip away like this. She wouldn't either. Not after everything what he had ever done for her.  
  
Dawn reached out her hand and toughed the vampire lightly on his cold cheekbones. Her fingers travelled up and halted when they reached the now perfectly still eyelids. Hesitatingly, she lifted one of them, receiving a blinking reflex from him as a pleasant surprise.  
  
"Spike!"  
  
She jumped up and did exactly what her older sister had done a couple of hours ago; she planted her hands firmly on his chest and shook him feverishly, trying to get him snap out of his comatose state.  
  
"Spike! Wake up! Wake up! It's me Dawn!"  
  
The eyes-fluttering thing intensified. A soft moan escaped the vampire's parted lips.  
  
"Oh please wake up now!"  
  
She was rocking the vampire so vigorously that he almost rolled over to one side. Dawn didn't care, Willow had told her that his flesh wounds would heal, but if he didn't regain his consciousness within a couple of days, he might never wake up ever again. The teenager didn't want to lose his vampire friend. He was immortal. He was supposed to be the one who would always be there for her.  
  
"Spike! Please!"  
  
A wave of relief washed over her when his eyes opened reluctantly. Blinking at the harsh light of the ceiling lamp.  
  
"Spike! You're awake!"  
  
He gazed around, disorientated, and found the little girl sitting next to him on the broad double bed. Knees and shoes resting on the sheets, staring back at him with an almost crazed out happiness shining in her eyes.  
  
"Dawn? What are you doing here?"  
  
His voice cracked, worn out like an old leathery shoe. As a matter of fact, his throat felt so awfully dry that he wondered if he might have accidentally swallowed one.  
  
"Buffy and Willow asked me to take care of you. You're in my house right now, in mom's room."  
  
"Buffy? Is she still here? An-and Giles, where did they all go?"  
  
Dawn gazed back at her vampire friend, worried.  
  
"Buffy went to get the demon that did this to you. But Giles is still in England. Do you want me to call him? "  
  
"Oh. No. No don't." His head was spinning again, nausea welling up in his throat like bitter bile. "I don't want him dragging the bloody poof with him."  
  
Dawn was seriously getting nervous now.  
  
"Spike? What are you talking about? Are you feeling all right?"  
  
"I'm fine lil' bit." Lying between his gritting teeth. "Let me straighten up my mind a bit before I ramble any further and start to freak you out completely here."  
  
Dawn helped the vampire up and placed a soft cushion behind his back to support him into a sitting position, reasoning that it was much more difficult to doze off like this then when lying all stretched out on the comfortable bed.  
  
"What happened?" She asked with a voice full of concern while she handed him a glass of water.  
  
Spike took a couple of grateful gulps. The coolness helped to get the to him more then horrifying traces of the nightmare out of his system.  
  
Dawn waited impatiently till the vampire had finished his drink and handed her back the empty glass. She put it aside and squatted next to him, staring at him as long as it would take till he spilled out the beans.  
  
"Your big sis and I were ambushed by a pissed off demon. Was just a sec too late to dodge away from his stabby arms." He shrugged. "Put up a good fight though."  
  
"I know about the demon. Willow did some research using Buffy's descriptions and found out that it was a glarkul cashmajick or whatever."  
  
"It's glarghk guhl kashma'nik." He corrected her. "Stick with me Nibblet and you might actually learn something here."  
  
Dawn managed to smile a little. It was good to hear him joke around again. Hopefully this was a sign that his condition was really improving.  
  
"Anyway, that's not what I meant. I wanted to know why you were asking for Giles."  
  
~ And that comment about someone being a bloody poof needs some clarification too. Although I might already have an idea who you are referring to. ~  
  
The vampire didn't answer her as easily as she had expected, but asked a question himself instead.  
  
"Red found out? Did she tell Buffy about the antidote?"  
  
Dawn nodded enthusiastically. "Yes she did. As I said they went to collect the demon who did this to you."  
  
"So your big sis didn't kill it yet?" he asked hopefully.  
  
"Well, she did, but Willow reassured us that if the corpse was still fresh and intact, we could use it to extract the antidote."  
  
"And how exactly did Red define the word intact?" Spike had a very bad mental picture forming that suited the Slayer thrashing the kashma'nik soundtrack from his memories far too well.  
  
"Uh, I think she meant with intact that all the body parts must still be attached?"  
  
Spike flinched.  
  
" But you know, Buffy wouldn't –"  
  
"Oh balls, I'm really done for this time."  
  
"Hey! Don't say that! Buffy is the Slayer, not some psycho serial killer! When she does her job the worst thing she will do to them is break their necks in a very clean and not too distressing kind of way. That should leave all the body parts on their places. Right?"  
  
"Is that what she tells you? Bullocks! So now what? There is an official board now for National Demon Healthcare that makes sure she doesn't inflict too much pain on them before she finishes them off? Hand me over the number Nibblet cause I sure want to make a few complains about her myself."  
  
"All I was saying was that she doesn't enjoy killing living creatures. Or hurting them as a matter of fact. She has morals."  
  
"Yeah well, I don't think your big sis sees the need to apply them on demons though."  
  
They both fell into an uncomfortable silence. Dawn noticed that Spike wasn't at ease talking about her sister. His last remark sounded rather bitter and hurt. Perhaps it was time to shift their conversation into a different path.  
  
"Um, You know it can take a while before they are back. Maybe we should get you downstairs and we can watch some TV together. Passions is up in half an hour and I can make you some of my famous banana-weetabix peanut butter milkshakes?"  
  
A thin smile appeared on the vampire's lips and Dawn felt relieved to be able to break his peculiar mood.  
  
"Sounds just peachy Nibblet. And who knows, I might be able to crawl downstairs before the end credits starts."  
  
"I'll help you."  
  
She took his right arm and swung it over her shoulders, then supported him back to his feet. Although swaying a bit unsteadily under his weight, she managed to inch him towards the stair foot by foot.  
  
"I was thinking, that milkshake of yours could use a bit extra to give it some texture. Do you still have those little chocolate coated marshmallows?"  
  
Dawn looked up at his vampire friend and gave him a radiant smile.  
  
"Lemme have a look once you're settled."  
  
  
  
SCENE 2  
  
"William? William! Please snap out of it!"  
  
Crouching beside the passed out young man still sitting on his chair, Buffy rubbed the skin where she had injected a second dose of anti-narcotic into his arm till it was turning scarlet.  
  
~Oh come on, I can't give you more than this. You really have to do it on your own now. ~`  
  
"Buffy, um, don't you think the Butanal needs a little time before it's activated in his system? Crushing the arterioles beneath his skin is not really going to help the drug distribute itself anymore efficiently."  
  
"Oh, I guess not. Sorry."  
  
She let go of his heavily abused left arm. It fell limp beside him and dragged his whole body down, launching him to one side with his head heading towards the floor.  
  
"Oh no! You're not going anywhere!"  
  
She stopped his fall just in time, slipping underneath the comatose patient and holding him back with her head and hands. She ended up looking rather comical, like a mechanic who got caught underneath his car when the jack broke down.  
  
"Guys? I can really use some help here. B'cause, you know, heavy?"  
  
Both older males in the room had been caught up in a serious conversation and the sudden interruption by the senior assistant made both man turn their heads towards her in surprise.  
  
"Oh sorry. Here let me get him."  
  
Liam grabbed his unconscious brother by his arms, lifted him up and allowed Buffy to crawl underneath her heavy package.  
  
"Perhaps you should take William back to his room Buffy. I don't think it's going to do the patient any good to let him just sit here and tumble off the chair every ten seconds."  
  
Buffy dusted off her uniform and gazed at her mentor with a pleading look on her face. Lips ready to pout.  
  
"But he's coming around any second now! The Butanal has got to work, believe me, twice of 400mg of that stuff is more then enough to even get an unconscious elephant back on his feet!"  
  
"Buffy."  
  
" He can sit here quietly and I promise to keep him steady."  
  
~ OK I know I've screwed things up for you Giles. But give me chance to make it all better. Please don't make me look like the complete overeducated but totally incompetent med student in front of that cute Liam guy. ~  
  
"There is something Mr Byron and I need to discuss rather urgently. But I trust William to be well attended for in your hands."  
  
"But –"  
  
The stern and annoyed look on her mentor's face told her that he was far beyond the but-phase oft their conversation for now. She rolled her eyes.  
  
"Fine. I'll go."  
  
"Good, now as I was saying mister Byron, one cannot dismiss the facts here. You're brother displays clear indications of unreasonable fear and anger towards your imaginative alter ego. Now as a professional and dare I say expert on my field, I can only conclude from my observations that William may have some serious trust issues."  
  
"Well a big DUH, and he's really not the only one."  
  
Giles turned around and saw Buffy still standing near the door.  
  
"Oops, did I say that one out loud?"  
  
The practitioner gave her a very nasty look, and she decided wisely that it was about time to leave the two gents on their own.  
  
"Um, I go see if Mike is still around to give me a hand, you guys have a nice chat."  
  
  
  
SCENE 3  
  
Dawn was finally losing her guard on the wounded vampire till she came back from the kitchen and tried to shove the third serving of super creamy- frosty marshmallow milkshake into his hand, and found him winching on the sofa as though he was in serious pain.  
  
She spilled half of the milkshakes over the carpet.  
  
"Oh-My-God! Spike! What's wrong?!"  
  
"Get away from me with that bleedin needle, I don't want to wake up in your crackers reality!"  
  
Dawn slammed the tall glasses on the coffee table and grabbed him by his shoulders. The vampire's face was still flinching and his eyes were held shut tight.  
  
"Spike? What are talking about? What's going on?"  
  
She shook the vampire, his body flung back and forth like a old ragged doll.  
  
"Oww! That bloody hurts!"  
  
The delusional vampire launched himself forward, clasping his left arm with his right hand as if he was stung and ended up banging his head on the coffee table, knocking over the milkshakes.  
  
'Spike!"  
  
"Get away from me!" His voice was muffled, as his face was buried underneath his arms that he folded over the back of his head protectively. "Get the bleedin hell away from me! I don't want to be normal! I don't want you to hurt me again!"  
  
Dawn stood beside the vampire, frozen in shock. This was really bad. Willow told her that Spike might wake up suffering from hallucinations, but everything went fine till she got the boneheaded idea to leave him alone for a couple of minutes to get the stupid shakes. If he's going to continue to freak out like this there was no way she could stop him from hurting himself. She would have to wait till the others came back.  
  
"Please Spike, calm down. There's no one here who wants to hurt you. You're safe."  
  
Hesitatingly, she kneeled beside the vampire who was still huddled into a tight heap.  
  
"Spike?" She whispered softly, and tentatively patted his hair, running her fingers through his short blond locks. "Please stop this. You're scaring me."  
  
"B-Buffy?"  
  
"Buffy is not back yet, but it's me, Dawn?" The sickening notch that her stomach was tight into after his friend's unexpected seizure relaxed a bit. At least he was still conscious.  
  
"Nibblet?"  
  
"Yes! I'm here." She administrated a hopeful but wavering smile.  
  
"What happened here?" He raised his head and struggled up from the tabletop, which was now a complete slippery mess. Disorientated, he gazed around finding himself away from the sofa seat that he had been comfortably settled in while watching his favourite soap opera. A drop of thick white liquid ran down his cheeks and the vampire caught it distractedly by sticking out his tongue. He tasted it, licked his lips, and gazing at Dawn in confusion.  
  
"And why I'm all covered with chocolate marshmallow shake?"  
  
  
  
TBC 


	5. ACT 5: Getting unconscious with your eye...

TITLE: "Normal again" (5/?)  
  
AUTHOR: Richard Bachman  
  
EMAIL: bachman_rchard@hotmail.com  
  
SITE: nope  
  
FEEDBACK: Give it to me luv, you know you want more of this!  
  
DISTRIBUTION: Do whatever you like poodle. As long as Richard is mentioned I'm fine.  
  
RATING: NC-17 Humor/angst  
  
PAIRING: B/S  
  
SUMMARY: Got this wonderful idea after watching normal again. Instead of Buffy, Spike gets a dose of demonic goodness inserted into his system. As his consciousness is transported to an AU where he finds Sunnydale is no longer the good old Sunnyhell he despises and knows so well, things are getting a bit surreal for the poor bleached wonder.  
  
WARNING: This fic describes scenes of rape, and is dark and angsty but I suppose that we kinda got used to it after watching whole bleedin S6.  
  
THANKS: To anyone for reading my senseless dribble. Love you guys. You truly make wasting my weekends worthwhile!  
  
SPECIAL THANKS: To my sweet betareader Olga. You've done a wonderful job, I almost start to sound like a real English gentleman here!  
  
CHARACTERS: Spike and Dawn interaction (not for very long anymore, though), we experience some Buffy guilt and Xander's weird sense of humour, and AU Buffy is struggling with a conscious William.  
  
NOTE: To the very conscious BtVS watchers, I know that NA did take place in the middle of winter in the Buffy universe, but I'm suffering from a nasty cold here (running nose as we speak) and with the pretty weather in May it's hard to return to the dull and greyness of winter. So there, this fic takes place in May because I can make it happen!  
  
  
  
ACT 5: Getting unconscious with your eyes wide open freaks people out and tends to dry out your eyeballs.  
  
  
  
SCENE 1  
  
"Oh bugger this. This is really getting daft. Timmy fell down the well again? Doesn't the kid ever learn not to wander around in the middle of the night without even so much as a flashlight?"  
  
Hanging out leisurely on the Summers' family sofa, I nested myself under the warm and comfortable electrical blanket, Buffy's blanket that the lil'bit took clean from her bed, and munched on a handful of Weetabix in my mouth. Never mind the crumbs.  
  
"This program had gone down the toilet ever since they switched producers. Could have shoved a typewriter in the hands of a Fearall demon with the intellect of a glass of tap water and still gotten a better screenplay written than this crap."  
  
"Hmm, maybe this time they are getting smarter and they will leave him down there. You know, put a heavy steel lid on the well. Seal it off with some black tape."  
  
I turned my head and gazed at lil' bit who was sitting next to me, also in a traditional Slayer annoying position with her shoes resting on the antique coffee table, and clearing out the breakfast cocoa cereals right out of the box.  
  
"Oh, sure, throw in a couple of flesh eating bugs, close the lid and seal it off. Brilliant. Put up a big flashy sign on top saying: "Contains dangerous little twat, big hazard to himself and to his direct environment within a half a mile radius. Do not open until next century or until subject proven clinically dead."  
  
Dawn looked at me and burst into a healthy laughing fit. It did me good to see her smile like that again. She had been dead worried ever since I came back from my quick trip down to the psycho version of the Never Never land.  
  
"You teenagers are so cruel." I added, acting like I was deeply offended or something, and got a handful of sticky cereal thrown into my face as a response.  
  
We watched a bit more bad telly, then switched over to UPN and caught an episode of Dilbert. Never though that white-collar work floor humour could be funny, but I must say that lil'bit knew how to pick her entertainment. For a short twenty minutes I forgot all about the mess of being deadly poisoned and having those grotesque out of this world hallucinations. I just kicked back my feet and enjoyed the show. By the time the late news was on, I was feeling a grand bit less grave about my unlife-threatening troubles.  
  
Till Nibblet started reminding me of them again, that was.  
  
"Spike, um, can you please tell me now what happened to you earlier?"  
  
I kept zapping from channel to channel absentmindedly, keeping my eyes fixed on the TV screen.  
  
"Spike?"  
  
"Why do you want to know Nibblet?"  
  
"I dunno. You just seemed so hurt." She paused. "I don't want anything bad to happen to you, that's all."  
  
I leaned back against the soft cushions with the peachy I-love-sushi print (once again nicked from the Slayer) and tossed the remote between my legs. On the telly, Bob Barker was about to give away a whole hand painted china tea set, but it is difficult to concentrate on the daft show when you're busy ignoring someone you actually care for.  
  
"Look Dawn, I don't think you have to wor-"  
  
"You weren't here when you acted like that. I know it sounds totally weird but it was like you didn't know that you were in the living room anymore. You didn't even notice me standing there. You seemed to be someplace else."  
  
I turned my head and studied her intensely. Sometimes I wondered if there was still some trace of mystical power left in the ex-key to the universe, forced into this frail human form of a teenage girl. She did seem to notice things far easier then the uptight Scoobs.  
  
"So, what kind of place were you in?"  
  
I swallowed hard, and averted my eyes from her.  
  
"Spike?"  
  
"I think I was having hallucinations. Probably tripping on the stuff the demon japed me with. But God, it felt so real." I paused, staring back at her, not sure how to explain it all.  
  
"I was locked up in some kind of loony-bin. White walls, barred windows, anxious atmosphere, the whole bleedin package. They manhandled me a lot so I suppose I was a patient. There were people there, doctors and nurses. And…somehow, they turned out to be real people. People I knew. Come to think of it, it was more like a bloody reunion."  
  
"Who was there?"  
  
I buried my face in my hands, rubbing my temples.  
  
"They, um, …"  
  
Brilliant Spike. You're gonna tell her now about your twisted versions of Buffy Nightingale, Doctor von Giles and your Big Bro Angel?  
  
"Was Buffy there?"  
  
I looked up at her, again, surprised.  
  
"Every time you came back you had her name at the tip of your tongue. It was an easy guess."  
  
"Oh. Well then, yes, she was."  
  
"Was I there?"  
  
"Why are you ask -, no Nibblet you weren't."  
  
"Then, how come Buffy was?"  
  
"What?!" I could have literally been knocked backwards by stupid amazement after hearing her odd question. Well at least I would have if it weren't for the fact that I got myself nicely tucked in under the Slayer's borrowed stuff.  
  
"Dawn, I don't know what the hell you're thinking, but this isn't a bleedin popularity contest! It's a hallucination, a delusion composed of little figments of my twisted imagination. Honest Nibblet, you don't even want to be part of it. I certainly don't want you to be."  
  
She gazed back at me, obviously busy musing with her unreasonable teenage mind if she should still get pissed off about this one. I held my breath even though I didn't need to breathe. Dawn's high-pitched wrath would be a bit too much for me to bear right now.  
  
"Was it a nice place, with Buffy? I mean, do you want to go back?"  
  
I sighed. Turned out she wasn't going to be mad at me at all. She was only worried that I might leave again.  
  
"No, it was bloody awful." I answered truthfully. "And I was really glad that you were here as soon as I got back."  
  
She smiled happily, and before I knew it, she had her arms draped around me and was hugging me for all that was worth. I winced a bit when she threatened to make me bleed again.  
  
"Careful, still shifting organs in there."  
  
"Oh, Sorry!" And as fast as her hands were on me, they were gone.  
  
"So um, you will be staying here with me?"  
  
"I wish I could make everything happen the way I wanted, Nibblet. But as sad history has proven by kicking my ass numerous times, it's not that simple. I think I will need some help to be able to stay away from that place."  
  
"I can help you! I won't let you go back there! No more walking away to get unhealthy snacks or sugar rushes. From now on, I'll keep a constant eye on you and make sure you are all right till the others are back with the antidote."  
  
I watched her naïve but so very eager display of enthusiasm to keep me safe. So at least someone in this soddin bleedin reality was giving a damn about this disgusting soulless thing. Dawn genuinely cared. There was no guilt or selfishness that moved her to do all this. Though it was hard to even admit it to myself, it did me good. Perhaps even an evil badass vampire needed some care and affection. At least the Slayer's little sister wanted and needed me.  
  
"Just don't let me doze off again, and I promise that I'll be fine."  
  
Nibblet gave me a huge confident grin.  
  
"No problem! I have a big collection of videos that we can watch together tonight. It will be like a slumber party, only without the slumbering or the wacky pyjamas. Let's see, have you seen Attack of the Clones yet? My friend got it downloaded from the net and has put it on tape for me. It's really good."  
  
I returned her warm smile, although I really thought that the whole bleedin Star Wars trilogy was a badly composed piece of commercial crap made up by a clever rich git to shake the money out of the pockets of little kids and sad middle-aged wankers daft enough to buy it all, I was ready to face two and a half hours of full dread to make my little protector happy.  
  
"Sure. Pop it right in, we'll give it a try."  
  
  
  
SCENE 2  
  
Mist, midnight and a full moon. The warmth of summer seemed distant and far away, though it was the mid of May. Strolling along the empty streets, the three core Scoobies were heading for the alley where Buffy had butchered the glarghk guhl kashma'nik.  
  
"So let me rephrase our plans again. We're going down the wrong side of town to interrupt some demons during their fancy dinner party to rescue certain parts of a dead demon's anatomy to save another almost dead demon's ass?"  
  
Xander, who had popped by the Summers' residence in the hope to find some much-needed comfort for his Anya-heartache from his best friends, had been surprised to find both of them very occupied already with attending a badly injured Spike. Although Willow and Buffy were indeed very happy to see him again, the centre of their attention had been diverted to the vampire, which Xander thought was a bit exaggerated. The Big Evil Bleached One had his ass kicked numerous of times. Petty physical injuries wouldn't stop the cocky vampire from staying away from the people he cared for, and though it was, of course, a bit childish of him, he was starting to feel just the tiniest hint of jealousy sticking up its green head above the tall grass of reason.  
  
"Do we really need to get the antidote for him? Spike is vampire, don't they have a natural immune system to other evil things?"  
  
"Xander," Willow reasoned, "You're mistaking Spike for a weird species of Australian spider. He's really in danger here with the demon's nasty toxin rushing through his system. Let's not make fun of this serious situation here, OK?"  
  
"All that I was saying was that perhaps we should have thought about whether this heroic action of ours is really necessary or not. That's all, not trying to joke on an undead demon's expense here."  
  
Buffy, who had been growingly annoyed with the constant nagging of her friend, but had saved her breath so far to correct him on his immature behaviour, spun around and addressed him, agitated.  
  
"Look Xander, if you don't want to come with us, then go back and stay with Dawn, will you?"  
  
"I can't leave you and Willow to go down that demon infested alley alone. What if there are more of these stabbing nasties around?"  
  
"Then stop complaining and start helping us. "  
  
"I can't believe you're actually concerned about Spike. I'm telling you, he'll be all right, Spike can take care of himself. He has the annoying habit to heal pretty fast, may be already up and running, hanging in front of the TV and clearing out your kitchen cupboards as we speak."  
  
"Guys, this is not the time to argue about this." Willow tried.  
  
"Tell me Xander, how am I supposed to react? Spike is injured because of me, and he may or may not be in life-threatening danger, but he's a part of the team now, after all that has happened. And as a team, we help each other out. You'd do the same if it was Willow or me."  
  
Xander averted his stare from the Slayer's. Her call for his solid conscience did the trick and a good portion of guilt swept the floor with the green little man of jealousy. Buffy had a point. Spike was completely trashed and needed all the help he could get from the people who came closest to being considered his friends.  
  
" OK, I suppose he did some good once and a while to justify our exertions here, but he better be still lying unconscious and bleeding when we get back. I'm not endangering my life for him if he's not even in somekind of serious danger."  
  
Buffy rolled her eyes and turned away.  
  
"Guys! I think we found the alley." Willow yelled, and shone her flashlight in the direction of the trashed car that Buffy had jumped off and on to fight off the demon. As the light bundle travelled across the trashcans and junk littered alley, dark, ugly looking creatures scuttled away like overgrown rats, making high-pitched screeching noises that gave the witch the wiggins.  
  
Buffy walked up to Willow and grabbed a small blade that she had hidden in her jeans pocket.  
  
"OK guys, stay behind me. I think I'll have to clean out this place before we can even start looking."  
  
Just after she said that, a big, hairy creature with no eyes but a mouth full of razor sharp teeth attacked her from the side and knocked her down. It sat on top of her and pushed its horrifying face down, ready to dig in its fresh meal.  
  
"Eew, ever heard of freshmints?"  
  
The creature shrieked, blowing his sewer breath into her direction.  
  
The Slayer gasped for some much needed fresh air.  
  
"Guess not."  
  
Buffy tried to turn away from the enormous mouth, then remembered her knife and stabbed the creature right in its back. It squealed and wriggled in pain, Buffy stabbed it again and the creature let go of her, jerking intensively with its stubby limps.  
  
"Buffy, watch out!" Xander shouted.  
  
She spun around and faced another eyeless rat creature, ready to strike out at her.  
  
"Have you two had the same dish this evening? B'cause if you have, I'm sorry, but I'm not even gonna give you the chance to come near me."  
  
She threw the knife; the sharp blade penetrated the creature's soft belly, and as it let out a terrifying shriek, a thick black fluid exploded out of the wound and covered Buffy's coat.  
  
"Hey! I just had this steam cleaned!"  
  
Buffy did a high jump kick and sent the dying creature flying against the wall. Then she spun around, looking for the next demon to challenge her slaying abilities. She was happy to find that most of the flock of mutated rodents had chosen to leg it in the meantime, after watching their comrades fall like dead leaves. The alley was now, except for the three friends and some scattered demon remains, totally deserted.  
  
"Whoa, those creepy crawlers were nasty. Buffy, are you all right?"  
  
Xander, who had been knocking on a couple of reluctant to flee outgrown rats with a rusty pipe, was helping Willow up.  
  
"I'm fine, don't smell so good anymore, though." She wrinkled her nose as she caught the scent of the black gluey stuff that covered her. "Ew, it's like I've been working shifts in the sewer or something. Are you OK Will?"  
  
"Oh yes. I'm OK. Just a bit shaken by the sudden grossness of it all. A couple of those marched all over me in their blind panic to get out of here."  
  
The witch eyed warily at the still shrieking and wriggling creature in the corner, which was now bathing in a big pool of black liquid.  
  
"Yes. It's a shame that most of these guys don't go poof like vampires. It's far easier to brush vamp dust out of your clothes. I'm not really sure what to do with this now." Buffy looked down at her outfit and frowned. "Guess I'll have to burn it."  
  
"Well, you can't really blame them for being totally disgusting, guess feeding on a constant diet of dead demon corpses tends to shift the balance of your digestive system into the wrong direction. " Xander joked.  
  
"Speaking of dead demon corpses, where is the glarghk guhl kashma'nik?" Willow asked.  
  
Buffy frowned again and looked around. She remembered to have seen the demon hit the ground near the wrecked car, but there was no sign of it left except for a faint trace of black icky fluid that seemed to disappear right under the vehicle. The little scavengers must have dragged it away to have a nibble on it in a more private atmosphere. Buffy kneeled down and took a look under the car, but it was too dark to see anything.  
  
"Here, this might help."  
  
Willow handed her the flashlight, Buffy took it and lit up the dark space. There, lying near the left front wheel, were the amputated remains of what once was the kashma'nik's arm. Even with the faint light she could clearly distinguish a pale bone sticking through the red oozing flesh. It was as if a couple of rather big dogs had their way with it.  
  
" Geez, I don't think I can still use that one Buffy." Willow said hesitatingly. "The antidote is carried in a separate compartment next to the toxin in the demon's arms, but I think those happy nibblers kinda munched everything up here. Let's start looking for the other one."  
  
Buffy nodded silently; a worried expression appeared on her face as she suddenly realized that their chances to succeed had suddenly been cut down by half. The three of them started looking for the essential body part. Xander stumbled over the demon's head, while Willow found some pieces what could have been the demon's upper arm, or leg, she wasn't sure. However, the lower part carrying the antidote was still missing, and after a full hour of futile search, Xander and Willow pretty much gave up on it. Buffy however, still kept looking frantically.  
  
"Uh, Buff, "Xander tried.  
  
"I don't understand. It must still be here somewhere. Those greedy little rats couldn't have eaten both arms. What are the chances of that happening?"  
  
"Well, you kinda admit it to yourself that they were greedy. I think we have to face the facts here. The second arm is probably travelling through the digestive system of one of those Mother Nature's little helpers right now."  
  
"Xander, can't you just stop with your stupid jokes for a moment here? This is serious. Spike is in danger. If we don't find the arm, then we can't get the antidote for him, and he may never wake up again!" Buffy yelled, her face displaying frenetic despair.  
  
"Say Buff, you are our Buffy, aren't you? Cause I'd swear that I just heard the Buffy bot speaking here," answered a surprised and offended Xander.  
  
"Buffy, Xander is right. The odds of finding it are kinda small here."  
  
"B-But we still have to try. What if Spike's body is not able to deal with the poison and he stays like this for the rest of his unlife."  
  
"Yes, I gotta admit it to you that that is pretty long since vampires tend to be immortal and all, but there is no use in staying here and looking for it Buff. The arms are gone. If you want to save Spike, we have to think of another plan." Xander opted. "I mean, hell, there must be more of these stabby green Crinton guys around. We can be hardly talking about an endangered species here. They are demons, not cuddly giant pandas."  
  
"Actually, there might be a problem with the species' availability." Willow said and gazed at Buffy tensely. "The glarghk guhl kashma'niks are pretty much a scarce type of demon."  
  
Buffy cocked her head, raising a worried eyebrow.  
  
"How scarce?"  
  
"Well, exactly the giant panda type of scarce. The watcher's journals report that they have not been seen since the last century."  
  
Buffy's face suddenly turned very pale.  
  
"In fact, that you were lucky enough to bump into one tonight in this back street alley is almost every watcher's wet dream. You know, kinda like Dian Fossey encountering her gorillas, but then in the New York Sub instead of the misty mountains of Zaire."  
  
"B-But what are going to do now? This glark-kul -what-me-nick can be the very last of his kind. How are we ever going to get the antidote if there is no more left of these creeps to kill?"  
  
"Um, maybe we should return to the Magic Box and dig through the books a second time? There has be a reason why this rare demon appeared here in Sunnydale. I know it could be that it has something to do with our good old Hellmouth, but I doubt it. This type of demon is not attracted to the crowds. There is definitely something fishy here."  
  
"The nerds!" Buffy said. "I've been looking for them when I was suddenly attacked by this World Wild Fund candidate."  
  
"Then they must have summoned it by magic." Willow frowned. "There is no way they could have asked one to help them out, even if they had asked it nicely."  
  
"But then this means that there's still hope, right? Willow, you can go find a demon summoning spell and call a second kul-me-nick to Sunnydale, and I can do my part, which is the slaying."  
  
"I guess I could do that, but…um…"  
  
"What?" The Slayer inquired impatiently.  
  
"Buffy, Willow can't perform the spell." Xander answered for the witch, rather agitatedly. "You can't expect her to risk falling back into her addiction just because you are so eager to save your favourite pet vamp here." He was getting pretty angry with his best friend for being so reckless. What was she thinking, Spike might be a part of the gang now, but his unlife was in no way more important than Willow's well being. Xander was starting to think that Buffy was letting her guilt for what had happened to Captain Peroxide take over her reason.  
  
Buffy stared back at both of her friends, suddenly realizing what she had said to the witch and starting to feel guilty. How could she be so careless when it came to her friend's feelings?  
  
"Oh, I um, I'm sorry Will, I don't know what came over me to ask that from you. I 'm really sorry."  
  
"It's all right Buffy. You're just a tad anxious because of what happened to Spike." Willow said, trying to comfort the Slayer. "But Xander is right, I can't help you out with summoning the demon myself. I'm afraid I will be back knee deep in magic before I even lay my hands on a spell book. But I do know someone who's able to help."  
  
Buffy looked up determinedly at the red-haired witch; there was a hint of nervousness in her green eyes as she mentioned the specific person who might be able to offer magical assistance, and the Slayer knew enough.  
  
"Let's go find Tara." Buffy decided.  
  
  
  
SCENE 3  
  
Loud TV noises filled the Summers' family living room, where the result of a whole night activity of a lazy vampire and a unscrupulous teenager started to show in empty cereal boxes and empty soft drink bottles, littered all over the floor, not to mention the crunchy blanket of spilled crumbs. Spike was still tucked in comfortably under Buffy's colourful bed linen, his hands placed behind his blond head and his feet resting on the now cleaned up coffee table. His eyes were open, staring at the TV screen on which the battle against the Dark side was fought by a young cocky Dart Vader and a hairy Obi Wan. Dawn was sitting next to the vampire, her eyes were starting to close and her head shifted slowly sideward till it bumped up to her undead friend's shoulders, making her jump right up again, half awake.  
  
"Whoa! I'm not sleeping! I'm up!"  
  
Dawn rubbed the sand out of her sleepy eyes and pinched her nose bridge. Geez, staying up all night was not as fun as she had originally thought. No wonder  
  
all the grownups still tend to go to bed, even when there are no bossy sisters around to make them. She worriedly turned to the vampire, who was lying motionless next to her, still fully awake and apparently fully absorbed by the movie. Dawn let out a little sigh of relief.  
  
"Sorry. Guess I'm not that used to this whole staying up late thing. Did I miss anything?"  
  
She glared at Spike, but the vampire didn't answer her.  
  
"Spike? Hello? Dawn speaking here, do you read me?"  
  
Still no reaction.  
  
The ex-key shifted from her seat, and leaned over to her vampire friend, who was still staring at the screen blankly. Dawn hesitatingly moved her hand in front of his eyes, expecting him to react to her, but not even getting so much as a blink out of him.  
  
"Spike!? Spike!"  
  
She grabbed the now obviously unconscious vampire by his shoulders and shook him hysterically, making his head nod like an epileptic string puppet.  
  
"Spike! Wake up! Please! You promised me you wouldn't go back there! You promised!"  
  
Dawn was getting close to desperate tears. She lost him. Again.  
  
"Spike! You crazy vampire! How on earth could you watch Star Wars and fall asleep with your eyes wide open?"  
  
  
  
SCENE 4  
  
Oh God, please don't tell me that I am where I think I am.  
  
I blinked my eyes, it bleedin hurts. Like someone was poking a couple of needles in them. It cleared my vision though. The blurriness receded a bit and I was able to take in my surroundings. I glanced around worriedly, hoping somehow that my senses were messed up and I was still lying stretched out on the comfy sofa next to Dawn.  
  
White walls all around, white floor at my feet, white ceiling above my head.  
  
Buffy Nightingale just kneeling in front of me.  
  
Bugger.  
  
I tried to jump up out of my huddled position, but found myself pretty much unable to even move so much as a finger. Panting out of full dread, I saw the Slayer's face hover in front of me like a bleedin hallucination, which was really confusing since I could swear that I already was in one.  
  
"William? William! Are you awake?"  
  
I ignored her and turned my head, looking for a hole or something to crawl away in. Just somewhere nice and dark to hide in for a while till the awful spinning of my head stopped. But Slayer would not be ignored, and forced my swaying head back to face hers.  
  
"William, are you feeling all right?"  
  
"Not quite so. Nauseous. Really, really nauseous."  
  
"Oh, that must be the anti narcotic kicking in. Don't panic, should be over in a couple of hours."  
  
"C-couple of h-hours?" Sweat was starting to trickle down my back and gush down my temples while the whole soddin room continued to dance the bleedin cha cha cha. "You mean, I've to feel like this for two more bloody hours?"  
  
"Um, I suggest you give me a sign if you want to throw up or anything. And keep your head still, looking around tends to make things worse."  
  
I wanted to close my eyes before they would drop out of my skull, but once again, the Slayer objected to my actions.  
  
"Oh no! Don't do that! Stay awake William! It took me three doses of Butanal to wake you up, and I'm not going to just sit here and watch you doze off again. You have to sit the nausea out without dropping unconscious."  
  
Her hand reached out and pinched me in my arm.  
  
"Oww. Sod off."  
  
"Just checking, now open your eyes and keep talking to me, or watch me turn your arms purple."  
  
I sighed and opened my eyes, treating her on a very nasty look.  
  
"Good, now hold still and keep your head back."  
  
She put a cool hand on my forehead, forcing me gently to look up at the ceiling. I blinked feverishly b'cause my eyes were now really starting to hurt like hell.  
  
"This should help." She said and just as I was wondering what on bleedin earth the bint was doing, drops of clear liquid dripped on my tormented eyes, clearing the painful prickling sensation and finally restoring my vision fully.  
  
"Now just relax." She pushed me back gently and my back hit a soft padded wall. "Don't try to move too much. The toilet is all the way down the hall. I doubt we can ever make it in time if you decide that you need to barf urgently."  
  
I nodded a bit, which was enough to send my head spinning again. Keeping my eyes on this unusual version of the Slayer I couldn't help but wonder why she was even here, taking care of me. But then I remembered. If my messed up mind was recollecting things correctly, this was all a bleedin delusion. Something that that nasty demon juice had done to my brain to make it think, and to make it experience all this as being real. The real Buffy would never be this considered and patient with me. To her, disgusting evil things like me don't need care or affection. They can take care of themselves.  
  
The thought kept running through my head while she came to sit down next to me and placed her cool hand on my burning cheeks. Her touch was tender and soft, so very different from the handling I had experienced by her before, the raw and lustful embraces as she draped her arms and legs around my surrendered body and made it hurt in all the right places. She ran her hands trough my hair and gently pushed my head on her shoulder, still comforting me as though she cared. As she moved her slender neck, I could pick up her familiar scent, warm and sweet, like late summer's strawberries.  
  
"It's OK William. It can all be a little confusing right now, but things are going to be all right. I promise."  
  
"Why do you even care?"  
  
Buffy Nightingale turned her head to me, puzzled.  
  
"What do you mean by that?"  
  
I swallowed hard and blinked my eyes.  
  
"I mean just that, why do you care if I'm all right or not."  
  
"I have to care, you're my patient. You've been my patient ever since I took this job, and that's almost as long as you've been here."  
  
I mentally slapped myself for even having the nerve to feel disappointed. So even the made up version of the Slayer wasn't really interested in your undead corpse, so what? You're going to hallucinate some imaginative heartache to go with that now?  
  
"Look, you don't have to stay here to watch over me. I can take care of myself."  
  
I yanked my head up a bit too reckless from her supporting shoulder, and got treated on a scabby headtrip that made me wanna heave. I lurched forward, gasping for air. God, what I wouldn't give to be able to just lie down for a sec to get rid of this soddin feeling of my brains being spun around on a rotating presentation plate.  
  
"William? Are you all right?"  
  
Again a very daft question, indeed.  
  
"Put your head between your legs. That may help."  
  
I was hardly able to find my own legs, let alone stir my head between them, but the Super Nurse! Slayer came to my rescue once again and pushed my head down. First I found it even more difficult to breathe in my new position, but soon the dreadful feeling receded from my skull, and my frantic panting was slowly replaced by a slower pace.  
  
"Better now?"  
  
I nodded with my head still buried between my legs. She helped me up slowly, careful not to get me gippy again. I wondered how long two bleedin hours could take in this fucked up reality.  
  
"Told you not to move around too much." She said matter-of-factly. "Now lie still if you don't want to feel like your skull is going to explode again."  
  
I did just that, leaning back at the padded wall (oh bloody lucky me, even Dru didn't get this far) and breathed in slowly. Then I gazed up at her, and noticed that there was something in the look that she gave me that I somehow recognized from that other reality, which seemed now very far away inside this comfy furnished madhouse, galaxies and Star Wars light years away, as a matter of fact. I frowned. Where the bleedin hell did I get that from?  
  
"So." I said, trying to get this weird expression off her face. "Tell me, what are you going to do with me, your patient here. Aren't you going to start poking in my head, see how far you'll get to convince me that I'm not a vampire?"  
  
Buffy looked at me with her unfairly large and bloody innocent eyes. I had mused about it numerous of times, and I was starting to think that it was that bewitching look of hers that had prevented me from killing her when I still hadn't got that bleedin chip in my head. Never mind the fact that she could kick my ass even before I was chipped.  
  
"I'm not here to make things difficult for you William, but you have to understand that you've been very ill. Believe me, I know that b'cause I've watched over you when you were still in that catatonic state and I was the first to be by your side when you returned to us. Now that things are finally looking up, I'm really not going to turn my back and walk away on you. Perhaps I should have said it differently, but I do care about you. Not only because I have to, but also because I've known you for so long."  
  
She averted her eyes for a moment, almost as if she was too embarrassed to admit it.  
  
"I guess you have kinda grown on me. Which is silly of course, with you being unconscious all the while, but hey. It's not like I've been dealing with a lot of cute conscious guys either. Working here as a psychiatrist kinda absorbs all of your free time."  
  
I wanted to say something, but my mouth was already half open with bloody astonishment. Did I really hear her say that she cared about me? An - And did she admit that I was cute?  
  
Suddenly, this other reality thing wasn't looking that gloom anymore.  
  
And then it struck me.  
  
I finally recognized the strange expression on Buffy's face. It was something I had seen before on her lil' sis's face, and she herself had frequently expressed it for the sake of her family, her friends, but never for this lovesick evil vampire, until now.  
  
She was genuinely worried about me.  
  
Which meant she finally cared.  
  
  
  
TBC 


	6. ACT 6: The harsh light of day does not k...

TITLE: "Normal again" (6/8?) part 1  
  
(Because of length, cut in two parts.)  
  
AUTHOR: Richard Bachman  
  
EMAIL: bachman_rchard@hotmail.com  
  
SITE: nope  
  
FEEDBACK: Give it to me luv, you know you want more of this!  
  
DISTRIBUTION: Do whatever you like poodle. As long as Richard is mentioned I'm fine.  
  
RATING: NC-17 Humor/angst  
  
PAIRING: B/S  
  
SUMMARY: Got this wonderful idea after watching normal again. Instead of Buffy, Spike gets a dose of demonic goodness inserted into his system. As his consciousness is transported to an AU where he finds Sunnydale is no longer the good old Sunnyhell he despises and knows so well, things are getting a bit surreal for the poor bleached wonder.  
  
WARNING: This fic describes scenes of rape, and is dark and angsty, but I suppose that we kinda got used to it after watching whole bleedin S6.  
  
THANKS: To anyone for reading my senseless dribble. Love you guys. You truly make wasting my weekends worthwhile!  
  
SPECIAL THANKS: Goes once again to Olga, my beta reader.  
  
CHARACTERS: Spike is knee deep in the AU thing. He discovers the benefits of team spirit and having the clearly wealthy poof as a brother, and also finds out that sunlight does indeed make him freckle (a bit).  
  
  
  
ACT 6: The harsh light of day does not keep me restrained in darkness any longer.  
  
  
  
SCENE 1  
  
I closed my eyes and opened them again. Then I cocked my head, slowly, turning it towards the artificial light provided by the small bulb dangling above the mirror. I figured that if I looked cross-eyed enough, I could just pick up the outline of my face, but the effort made me dizzy. I shook my head and repositioned myself, gazing up at the strangely familiar young man with messy brown locks and funny cheekbones, who was staring right back at me, a confused look in his fiery blue eyes, a dark brow raised up warily.  
  
" Is it weird?"  
  
The Slayer's image appeared behind my reflection. I caught myself studying it intensely, checking if hers was looking as strange as mine. You know, some minor detail that got messed up by the mirror, making her look a tad unreal. A bit fake. But there was none of that. What I saw in the mirror was exactly the same image I would see if I turned around to look at her. Which pretty much meant that I shouldn't doubt the genuineness of my own reflection either.  
  
" I can imagine how you feel. Five years is a hell of a long time to lose. "  
  
" Oh, I think I have lost far more than that." I laughed bitterly. "To be honest, I can hardly recognise that wanker staring back at me right now. It- It feels like it had been ages. Bloody centuries."  
  
"Now, that's just the hallucinating and slightly depressed William talking." She ran her fingers through the mess of my hair.  
  
I averted my eyes from my image. Couldn't stand looking at it right now. That wasn't me. I remembered that Angelus was the first to tell me that we vampires didn't age. We would stay exactly the same as we did on the day that we were made, forever young or forever old, forever raving mad or maddening sane. Me and Dru got used to dressing up without using a mirror pretty quick, though she tended to make me look like a bloody poof if I let her have her way with my hair. The strangeness of seeing that empty spot in the mirror had also worn off after decades, and we ended up even avoiding places where our reflections, or rather the lack of them, could be noticed, partly b'cause we were not too keen on letting our leggy meals know that we were vamps. But all this time, I had this mental image of myself tucked up safely in my mind, of how I would look like to Dru, to Angelus, and finally, to the Slayer. That image was never the same. It changed and it aged, because I felt that I did. I guess deep in my dead non beating heart I just couldn't believe that I was still the uncertain looking wuss with the words " love's bitch" tattooed on the forehead, who liked to write bloody awful poetry and harassed his object of affection with his presence till she was pushed to flee in full frenetic horror.  
  
Seeing the little wanker again after this long time was sure a bit of a bloody disappointment.  
  
" I wager this is supposed to be part of my therapy then? Shove the mental- vamp-patient in front of a large mirror, see if he freaks out again when he finds out that he does have a reflection?" I asked, voice sounding unintentionally angry and sarcastic.  
  
" I just, I thought that you would like to take a look at yourself." She said, uncertain how to react to my sudden hostility, but soon composing herself. " And no, this isn't part of the therapy. We have more sophisticated methods to convince you."  
  
"Like what?" I turned around, cocky smile on my lips. " Shock treatment? Forced cold and hot holy water baths? Or a bloody crucifixion, because you know, that kinda works twice as effective for the likes of me. You get the bleeding and the burning, all at the same time."  
  
I looked at the expression on her face and got even more convinced that whatever daft reality I got myself into, the Buffy that stood in front of me was as real as my new bleedin heartbeat. That grossed out and annoyed look that she gave me was one of a kind.  
  
" What? Eww, no! Where do you get your weird and totally wrong sense of humour from, by watching Elmstreet before bedtime? I was just talking about plain and normal group therapy here."  
  
Puzzled and perhaps a bit in fear, not liking the sound of the word "group" in particular, I gazed at her.  
  
"Group therapy? What do you mean by that?"  
  
  
  
SCENE 2  
  
It was in a bright, cheery room on the second floor of what I now had become to think as the Professor Rupert's Institute for heavily screwed wankers. I immediately got the wiggins when I first entered the room and laid my eyes on the walls. Some balmy interior designer had gotten the brilliant idea to paint the soddin room full with cute little Disney animals. Although the whole thing was incredibly badly done, I still could clearly distinguish a wide-eyed Bambi prancing around with his happy mates, with the giant brown ankles wearing stain on the wall left probably Bambi's dad. Rotten little woodland creatures dancing in a surreal landscape with soft rolling hills, so violently green that it hurt my bleedin eyes.  
  
And then there were also pink and baby blue flowers painted everywhere like soddin sweet canes in an overly decorated Christmas tree.  
  
"You got to be kiddin me." I said, panting below my breath and starting to feel a bit nauseous again. Suddenly, I got the overwhelming need to leg it before the blond and pushy one came in and introduced me to this new form of medieval torture. I swirled around on my heels, ready to make a run for it, and bumped into a very familiar mount of wrinkles and loose skin.  
  
"Oh, Hello there! You must be William, right?"  
  
I gazed up, baffled, and found myself staring into the face of my kitten poker-cheating chum.  
  
"C-Clem? What the bloody hell are you doing here?"  
  
"Um, excuse me." The demon stumbled, as confused as I was. "But, um, have we met before?"  
  
"Well, you seem to bloody well know me! Seriously Clem, what are you here for and why are you calling me William, just like the rest of these hallucinated wankers? I thought we have agreed for you not to appear in my dreams anymore. With all that sexual tension between me and the Slayer flying around, it just doesn't seem such a good idea for you to hang around in my soddin wet dreams."  
  
Clem backed up, visibly worried.  
  
"Eh, look pal, I think you're confusing me with someone else. I just happened to know your name b'cause Doctor Summers told us that there would be a new guy joining the group this morning. I've never seen you before in my entire life."  
  
I blinked my eyes in absolute stupid disbelieve.  
  
"Oh. Right then, should have guessed this right away. Everybody I know has been given bleedin cameo parts in this daft head-trip of mine. So, um, you're supposed to be what, a fellow nutcase?"  
  
"I'm a patient here, just like you, if that is that is what you're trying to say. " He showed me that stupid grin of his, attempting to be friendly. "I'm Glen Murray. Pleased to meet someone new aboard." He offered me his hand, which I didn't take. I was just too bloody baffled for the moment.  
  
"Yeah. Actually, it is really good to meet another demon in this human infested hell hole." I cocked my head and kept staring at Clem, making my old mate seem even more uncomfortable. An encouraging thought struck me there and I started musing out loud. "I mean, if you're here and as real as a demon can be, then it must mean that I'm still myself too. Hey! I'm not William the whimpering Schizo but Spike the bloody evil vampire!"  
  
"Why are you calling me a demon?" Clem's floppy go-happy features vanished, which, in turn, wiped the content grin from my face. "I'm not a demon. Just that I-I happened to look like – look like…"  
  
" Look like what? An overgrown bald albino rabbit with loose skin and very sharp teeth?"  
  
I joked hopefully, but he didn't take it as well as I expected.  
  
"I don't look like a b-bald wrinkled rabbit! I'm not a monster, I am a man! Doctor Summers told me so. And I shouldn't listen to what others have to say about me b'cause they are just shallow, and I surely don't have to listen to your insecure crap, William!"  
  
With that said, Clem pushed me aside and walked angrily into the room, leaving me standing near the door with an incredulous expression plastered all over my face. Outside, from the corridor, came the noises of a crowd heading our way, with the cheery chirpy voice of the Slayer sounding above them all.  
  
"Ah, you found the place on your own, very good. Now let's get inside, shall we?"  
  
Before I could as much as utter an excuse to get me out of this nightmare, I was swept up by a colourful company of patients, all looking rather a tad too odd to be humans, and got pushed into a chair by Buffy Nightingale.  
  
When the others finally got their asses planted on their seats, I found myself a reluctant part of a wide circle formed by six patients and one not totally qualified psychiatrist. Everyone was chatting like a bunch of cloaking chickens except for Clem, who was eyeing at me from the other side of the room with an incredibly hurt expression on his face, which I desperately tried to ignore. I started to think that this whole group therapy thing was about as interesting as one of Dru's fancy tea parties with miss Edith and company when the Slayer, always fancying herself the leader, stood up and clapped her hands.  
  
"OK guys, we gonna start now. Today I would like to introduce someone new into the group. William?"  
  
I glared up at her sullenly.  
  
"Can you stand up, let the guys here take a good look at you?"  
  
"Do I have to?"  
  
The Slayer's features twisted from cheery and friendly to demandingly pushy within a sec.  
  
"Yes, you have to. Now be nice and get your ass of that chair."  
  
"Fine, if I must." I sighed.  
  
I jumped out of my chair, stretched my arms above my head and swirled around in front of my audience a couple of times. Then I turned back to her.  
  
"So here I am, prancing around demeaningly like a cheap piece of meat for everybody here to go googly eyes on. Are you satisfied now?"  
  
"William, shut up. And yes, it does make me feel all powerful and good about myself. Now, everybody, this is mister William Byron. He will be joining us with the group sessions, starting from today. William, these are you fellow group members. This is Marc Noxon."  
  
A slim built demon with pale blue skin and curved horns growing out of his head gave me a friendly pleased-to-meet-you cheer.  
  
"Steward Burns."  
  
A red skinned demon covered in scales waved me hello.  
  
"James Contner"  
  
Shabby looking Fearall demon came up to me and shook my hand enthusiastically.  
  
"Glen Murray."  
  
Clem just gave me a slight nod to affirm his hostile attitude towards me.  
  
"And this is David Salomon."  
  
600 pound Chirago demon wearing a dress and a purple wig raised his hand and waved like a nonche at me, then accompanied the gesture by an overfriendly grin and fluttering eyelashes.  
  
"Guys, William has been away for quite a long while and is not used to having so many people around. So be gentle with him, okay? Don't ask too many questions or push him too much on this first session."  
  
"You can count on us for that, Doctor Summers." The poof of a Chirago demon answered and turned toward me. "You can relax, William. We all went through this awkward phase when we were taking our first hesitating steps towards full recovery. I'm sure the guys here are as keen to help and support you as I am."  
  
I swallowed a hard lump that got stuck in my throat and just kept gazing at this talking wig wearing nightmare, ready to start screaming for all that my sanity was still worth in this crackers reality.  
  
" Yes, that's very thoughtful of you Dave. I think William will appreciate this." She eyed at me warily as she probably observed the gob-smacked phase that I was in.  
  
I almost jumped right out of my chair as the ugly tosser grabbed my hand and gave it a little comforting squeeze.  
  
"You have such a brave spirit, my dear boy! Doctor Summers have told us all about you before your official introduction, and I must say that I have nothing but the deepest respect for you. Such a terrible car accident! And you slipping into a coma, only to wake up in that awful catatonic state… Seriously, I have friends at section 12 that never snapped out of that one, I tell you. They have been sitting in the same corner of their rooms over decades gathering mould and dust! But you. You found a way to fight it and now you 're back again!"  
  
He leaned forward, his huge, beefy arms opened wide, ready to grab me and hug me to death.  
  
"Everybody! Give a loud cheer for William here! The darling boy deserves it!"  
  
I got ambushed by the cheap Pricilla Queen of the desert imitation and found out that breathing with my face buried in a demon's wobbly bosom was hardly if not completely not possible. Trying to push away the large mount of soft, all engulfing flesh and failing miserably, I let out an anxious cry for help, which got muffled in the big heap till it wasn't more than a soft whimper.  
  
Bloody hell.  
  
Outside of my dark and dank prison, a loud crazy cheer burst out in the room, and somewhere on my left, I could clearly hear the Slayer starting to panic.  
  
"Em, okay Dave. I think maybe William would like to breathe now."  
  
The arms that locked me into my highly deadly position lifted and I backed away from the charming chap, inhaling much-needed oxygen hysterically.  
  
"Oh my." The purple wig bloke squealed. "Sorry, William, sometimes I do underestimate my strength."  
  
"What is all this?" I asked while trying to breathe at the same time. "Why - Why are all these demons here?"  
  
Buffy looked at me as if I had suddenly grown an extra head or something.  
  
"What are you talking about, William, what demons?"  
  
"What demons?!" I couldn't believe my freakin ears. "These demons!" And I waved my hand around, pointing at all of them sitting there, nice and comfy in their chairs. "Why are they all here?"  
  
"William. You're confused. Again. These people do look special, but they are not…"  
  
I straightened my back and inhaled deep. Enough of this freakin puppet show already.  
  
"Look, you can't fool me. Ever since I woke up in this soddin reality you've been telling me that I wasn't real. That there are no such things as vampires and demons and that I was rather comical for making them all up in my head and believing that I was actually one. But, bloody hell, I mean, look at them! How can you expect me to swallow all of your psychological mumbo jumbo if these guys are also around?"  
  
Now they were all looking at me as if I had lost my mind. Buffy attempted to compose herself, and then tried to calm me down at bit.  
  
"Listen William. There is no one here who's a demon or vampire or whatever. And I do realise that perhaps you're still suffering from terrible delusions, but you can't just call everybody a monster because they happen to look different. We are all human beings here, and that's how these people like to be addressed. Like normal human beings."  
  
"Oh really?!" I hissed mockingly and jumped out of my chair like a winded toy. "Are you daft Summers? These are not humans! They're monsters! I mean, take a look at Marc here, ever seen a man growing horns out of his bloody head or having a bad case of very blue skin? And Dave, did you even notice that he was a Chirago demon underneath that ridiculous wig? You were supposed to slay demons like these in order to be righteous, remember? You used to kick their asses, break their limps and massacre them!"  
  
I paused for a moment to gasp in some air, gazing angrily around the room, which had suddenly become very quiet.  
  
"I don't know what is wrong with you pal! But it's really mean of you to say that!"  
  
I froze instantly as I recognized Clem's voice.  
  
"Isn't it enough that people from outside are making fun of us, calling us freaks and monsters all the time? Now you have to toddle in with your perfectly wrinkleless body and fleshy skin tan and start bullying us around too! Do you even realize how deep those ugly words of yours hurt people like us, do you?"  
  
I blinked stupidly, was certainly not expecting this coming.  
  
"Honestly William, that was very inconsiderate of you! And I thought that you were such a nice young man, turns out that you're just as ignorant as all the others." Dave squeaked.  
  
"Doctor Summers should get righteous on your sorry ass!" Yelled the Fearall demon.  
  
"Hey! Don't get pissed on me b'cause I happen to speak the truth here! You blokes are demons! Look at yourself, you daft morons, none of you can even pass for simian, let alone human!"  
  
The faint murmuring of voices became the loud screaming of an angry mob. I backed up cautiously, I've seen these little misunderstandings escalate into heart staking and pitchfork rising type of anger pretty quickly in the past, and my instincts told me that hanging around near such companies was never beneficial for a vamp's health.  
  
"Guys! Don't do this! Calm down!" The Slayer yelled.  
  
"That does it! I'm not taking anymore of that bullshit coming out of you, sonny! I've been dealing with scum like you my whole life, and I'll be a monkey's uncle if I let you get away with this!" Hissing like a stepped on an adder, that scaly Steward bloke headed my way, probably ready to break some bones of mine.  
  
"OK guys! Enough is enough indeed. Sit back down right away. All of you!" The Slayer pushed herself through the cuckoos' crowd and grabbed me by the arm, yanking me out of the room in a hurry.  
  
"Yeah, listen to the nice doctor here and start acting like good mental patients!" I yelled mockingly over my shoulders. "If you don't want to be demons then at least try to qualify for professional basket cases."  
  
"Shut up you!" We were standing in the deserted corridor as she slammed my back against the wall while banging the door shut behind her. Flaring anger was blazing in her steel blue eyes.  
  
I smirked at her.  
  
"That's how I like to see you luv! All violently mad and thirsty for demon blood. The very Slayer I fell for."  
  
"I don't have a clue what you're talking about, but frankly, I pity you if you're that delusional to think that me being angry at you is a good thing."  
  
"Oh, I'm not happy." And my smirk became a huge grin, accompanied by some mad giggling. "I'm absolutely thrilled! And there I thought I've to miss our little midnight dancing lessons with me being stuck here without the Slayer. Turns out Buffy Nightingale is up to the job, and as good as the real thing."  
  
"Stop referring to those crazy fantasies of yours! You're not a vampire! You're just a rude and obnoxious bastard, and you've insulted a lot of people in there who normally wouldn't even hurt a fly, but are now about to thrash you real bad for your stupid ranting. Do you even understand how serious this is?"  
  
"Yeah, well, let them get on with it." I snorted. "Would love a good brawl, could break a couple of bones right now myself."  
  
"Why don't you listen?!"  
  
The Slayer grabbed me by the shoulders and slammed my head back.  
  
"This isn't a joke, William, OK? They are really angry with you right now. Walk back in there, and they will put you back in your favourite dream world before you can even say the word ough." She pushed some dangling locks behind her ear agitatedly. "What's the matter with you, anyway? The guys were only trying to be friendly. Letting you feel more comfortable as the new guy in the group. There was really no need to go totally mean and crazy on them."  
  
"Look, I was just trying to point out the deadly simple facts here that they are bloody de-"  
  
She pushed her hand against my gob.  
  
"I don't want to hear that word coming out of your mouth! They're not demons. They are humans. Just a bunch of plain old ordinary guys who have been judged on their appearances too many times. Do you have any idea how long it has taken me to get their shattered self-esteem built up from scratch again? How can you be so…so inconsiderate of anyone else's feelings? Don't you have a heart?"  
  
I muttered something in her palm, and she released her grip on me.  
  
"Do have a heart here babe, just don't seem to have a soul, though."  
  
I stared at her, expecting more anger coming, perhaps even a sign of disgust for my honesty to admit this to her. She never had been one to be able to embrace the ugly naked truth.  
  
But instead, she traced my cheeks with her soft fingers and looked at me with the deepest pity in her eyes that I have ever received from another human or demon in my entire existence.  
  
"You have a soul, William. I'm sure you have. Don't talk about yourself like this."  
  
"How would you know?" I asked hesitatingly.  
  
"Because you're a man. Not a monster."  
  
My anger slipped away, leaving me empty, like a drained vessel. She kept staring back at me with that angelic face of hers filled with misplaced compassion, and my defence broke down completely.  
  
Averting my eyes, I whispered my answer to her.  
  
"You know, I wish you would have told me this before."  
  
  
  
TBC  
  
Part II of 6/8 is coming up next Saturday 15th June 2002: Finally some Spike and Angel interaction and AU Buffy takes the guys out to play in the sun. 


	7. ACT 7: Bloody Fridays

TITLE: "Normal again" (6/8?) part 2 (Because of length, cut in three parts. Geez, does this chapter ever end???)  
  
AUTHOR: Richard Bachman  
  
EMAIL: bachman_rchard@hotmail.com  
  
SITE: nope  
  
FEEDBACK: Give it to me luv, you know you want more of this!  
  
DISTRIBUTION: Do whatever you like poodle. As long as Richard is mentioned I'm fine.  
  
RATING: NC-17 Humor/angst  
  
PAIRING: B/S  
  
SUMMARY: Got this wonderful idea after watching normal again. Instead of Buffy, Spike gets a dose of demonic goodness inserted into his system. As his consciousness is transported to an AU where he finds Sunnydale is no longer the good old Sunnyhell he despises and knows so well, things are getting a bit surreal for the poor bleached wonder.  
  
WARNING: This fic describes scenes of rape, and is dark and angsty but I suppose that we kinda got used to it after watching whole bleedin S6.  
  
THANKS: To anyone for reading my senseless dribble. Love you guys. You truly make wasting my weekends worthwhile!  
  
SPECIAL THANKS: To my patient beta reader Olga, it has taken a while before I could update but your work is surely not in vain.  
  
CHARACTERS: Spike is knee deep in the AU thing. He discovers the benefits of team spirit, has some Angel/Liam interaction, and finds out that sunlight does indeed make him freckle (a bit).  
  
ACT 6: The harsh light of day does not keep me restrained in darkness any longer.  
  
SCENE 3  
  
"Get your hands up Will, you know the procedure."  
  
"Yeah, I know the procedure all right. Just don't try to stick your hand all the way up to my ass this time. I can't see the use in it, can hardly hide any pointy objects in there, can I?"  
  
I smirked at the orderly, who was calling me a smart ass beneath his breath and kept feeling my legs and chest while I was standing spread-eagled with my hands against the wall. Paranoid much?  
  
"He's clear." He yelled. An annoying buzz followed, after which the barred doors in front of me flew wide open and I got shoved inside the next corridor.  
  
"Better step on it Will, your brother had been waiting for you ever since you came back from group therapy."  
  
"And I thought that bad things never happened at once." I said sarcastically. "An angry mob and that poof Angel on the same bleedin morning, what are the odds of that happening to me?"  
  
Mike led me through yet another door situated at the very end of the long hallway. This one was not as high tech as the first and needed to be opened in the old fashioned way, which meant that my mate Mike had to scrabble with his heavy ring of keys for a minute or two before he could unlock it. We entered a small room with a barred window and green tiled walls. In the middle of room stood a table and two crooked chairs. And oh, my grand poof Sire was standing there as well, looking as broody as ever.  
  
"Here he is sir. You have a half an hour. If you need anything or if he starts causing any trouble, I'll be waiting at the other side of that door. Just give me a yell."  
  
"Thanks Mike, but I don't think it will be necessary." Angel gazed up to the beefy Mikster for a sec, waited till the bloke had left the room, then continued to brood at me in silence. Eyes on the million miles mode, brows all furrowed. The "I am permanently worrying about my existence but I can't do a soddin thing about it" look that was gloomy enough to drive a happy vamp into joining a sun worshipping cult, let alone a less cheerful demon like yours truly here at the very present moment.  
  
"So, I suppose this is a weekly thing then." I opted, trying to get over the first gauche moments to make him stop depressing me with his soddin brooding. "Tell me, are you always gonna come on Fridays from now on? B'cause if you are, I'm definitely going to hassle Rupert to let me reschedule that group therapy thing. Friday is starting to feel rather too action-packed with all this mental torturing going on in one single day."  
  
Angel's face changed from troubled into guilt-ridden, which was absolutely peachy by me. Guilt was fine; as long as the poof didn't feel sorry for me being locked up in here and start to drown me in his endearing looks of sympathy, I was really ever so grateful.  
  
"I had planned to come and see you every Friday. I wanted to visit on weekends too, but Doctor Giles told me that perhaps that was still a bit too early for you."  
  
"Oh, bloody hell, the Watcher's definitely right. I need much, much more time. So if you're so kind to stay away from me for, let's say, the next twenty, thirty years, I think I will be a much happier mental patient. "  
  
Now the poofter looked hurt, and once again, it did me good.  
  
"Will, maybe you don't remember anything anymore, but I still do. I don't understand why you're acting this hostile towards me and why you think that you should hate me this much, but you are still my little brother. I want to take care of you. I can't just stop caring about you because you've suddenly fantasised in one of your less lucid states that I'm your absolute arch nemesis. Can't you at least try to accept me?"  
  
Angel treated me on his sad-puppy look that got the Slayer into sending his precious soul directly back to hell in happier times. Didn't work on me though, and I wondered if Buffy ever noticed how much my grand sire's features resembled that of a daft broad-mouthed cartoon dog.  
  
"Look, An- Liam. I'm sorry for being this blunt, but all I can remember, and dear doctor Summers is probably going to sent me to another balmy group session for this, is you being my grand Sire Angelus. You were the one who used to call me a whimpering wuss. You used to beat me unconscious with a large stick, tie me to a pole and fuck me from behind till I was bleedin my whole last meal out of my soddin arse. Excuse me for holding a bit of a grudge here, but my memories of you aren't exactly the stuff that daydreams are made of, unless you're really into bondage, of course. "  
  
I parked myself in one of the chairs and raised my feet, putting them on the table. Leaning back and balancing on the hind legs, I waited for time to crawl by so I could finally get out of this soddin mess. If the poofter wanted a story about why his poor delusional sibling was wishing him dead, I certainly could provide him one. Just don't bloody expect me to feel any sympathy for this furball version of the Angel I know. Things with my grand Sire had already gone past the be-able-to-be-forgiving state centuries ago.  
  
Angel remained silent and frozen on the spot for so long that I started to wonder if he had passed out unnoticed with the broad stick up his ass still supporting his frame so he wasn't tumbling over. Eager to elope the much dreaded half an hour with the fully conscious poof, I kept myself quiet, hardly daring to clear my throat out of fear of making him snap out of his rather convenient shock. However, after a couple of minutes Angel started to blink his eyes, and my hopes to escape this very daft confrontation went down the drain.  
  
"Will, I've never done this to you. These delusions that you have, these disturbing things you describe, they are not real. I could never, * never * hurt you."  
  
Angel paced around the small room like a caged animal, brooding engine turned on its maximum capacity, while guilt, sorrow, anxiety, and the whole soddin rainbow of depressing moods was showcased in this one very miserable man.  
  
Very good, I thought.  
  
"I don't understand how you can make all these ugly things up. I've always been a good brother to you, Will. Always. When dad died, I was there to comfort you, to take care of you. We were best pals, you and I. We used to go on deep sea fishing trips or camping in the woods together, remember? Just before .before all the bad stuff happened. You came to visit me in LA almost every weekend. When we were kids, we shared everything, even the same bicycle, but I always let you ride it first, even if it was my turn."  
  
"And I'm sure that your sacrifices have truly shaped me into the man I'm today. It's just a bloody shame that I can really remember bugger of those heart warming, merry times." I mocked.  
  
Poofter stopped dead in his tracks, eying at me.  
  
" I guess that what I mean to say is that. I loved you, Will. And I still do. God, why can't you see that?"  
  
He smashed his fists on the table, angry and frustrated. His eyes were tying to find any emotional sign of recollection in my cold and ignorant stare.  
  
"Can't you remember anything about me that is real?"  
  
I gazed up at him and slowly I shook my head.  
  
"Listen to me, mate, if there was a way in this whole bleedin world that could make me forget about all that nasty stuff that you've ever done to me, I would be more then happy to oblige, even when it means that my testicles have to be smashed once or twice or that my brains have to be partly eaten away. But sadly, there isn't really a way to go amnesia on this one on a permanent level. I just have to settle with pissing you off and making a fool out of you whenever I have the chance to help me deal with the damage you've done, thank you very much."  
  
I was starting to tire from this jabbering, must have gone completely daft indeed to even try to explain to this crackers version of the poof why I hated his guts. What was the bleedin point? The bloke wouldn't get it since he was bloody innocent of all of the ugly stuff I was blaming him for. The only thing that I would probably achieve with this was him getting even more winded up about it and having him around for another couple of hours, trying to convince me that he was just a fluffy little kitten and not the throat ripping tiger that Angelus was.  
  
"Will, please stop. Stop telling all these terrible lies. Perhaps Doctor Giles was right. I shouldn't have come here."  
  
He collapsed on the chair, both his hands entwined in his pointy hair.  
  
"I really don't know what to do anymore. I had hopes that at least you would still trust me. Remember a tiny bit about me. But you don't. Not a thing."  
  
"Look, I'm just telling the stuff that I do remember. Don't get your knickers all twisted. I guess to you these recollections are indeed complete baloney. You've got nothing to do with any of it. Fair enough."  
  
"You're sick Will. You're very, *very* sick."  
  
"What, for making these saucy references to dubious sex or calling you my grand Sire Angelus?"  
  
Angel had been hiding his face between his arms, bending all over the table. Now he tilted his head a bit and gazed at me with his dark brows raised.  
  
"No, I mean that you are seriously ill. I think you are going to need a lot of help to get you back on your feet again. You'll have to stay here for a while. If only there was another possible way."  
  
I sighed and suddenly got the very urgent need to impale myself in front of the poof, only to get rid of the tosser. What's with the soddin pity already? Did I explicitly beg him for it or something?  
  
"You have to believe me Will. If I could be in here instead of you, having you back healthy and happy again, I would take your place without doubting my choice for a second. But I need you to be strong now, and at least try to forget all these nightmares you've been living in for the past five years, and move on. Fight back. I know you can do it."  
  
He grabbed me gently by the shoulders and gave a little squeeze.  
  
"You have to fight back. Please Will, if you don't want to do it for me, then for God's sake, do it for yourself."  
  
I gazed sullenly at him, for once not having an edgy remark or a cunningly crafted insult ready to throw right back at his face. Angel, or rather Liam, was at the brink of an emotional breakdown, all teary eyes and puffy red nose. I could have cared less, I wager, but somehow it seemed too low even for this evil soulless vampire to bash this broken man in front of me with the final blow.  
  
"Hey, don't worry, peaches." I hesitatingly opted. "Fighting is in my blood."  
  
A very faint smile appeared on Liam's face, reflecting a trace of hope.  
  
"I guess it is. You've always been a fighter. I, however, am very much at the end of my dexterity here. Honest Will, I don't know what I'll do if I lose you again. I think the guilt will eventually drive me mad."  
  
He folded his hands over his face, then held them in front of his lips as if he was a sinner in prayer. His eyes were averted from me.  
  
"You don't know how it was for me these past five years. I blamed myself for everything; the bad memories, the fight, the car, even the damn slippery road. I thought that, if I could have stopped you from walking out of my apartment that day, or kept you there an hour longer, so the bad weather would have passed LA, then none of this would have ever happened."  
  
Liam's voice sounded old and worn, reminding me of that night that Angelus came back to our little family after the absence of a decade. Only he hadn't been Angelus any longer, but Angel, cursed with a soul.  
  
"But then, I guess I'm still trying to wash my dirty hands clean of everything if I'm trying to convince you that none of it was really my fault. B- B'cause it w-was, in a way. I shouldn't have let those ugly things happen to you Will. But I was scared. I didn't have the guts to stop any of it. I'm sorry."  
  
Not understanding exactly what he was talking about, I figured he was still referring to his outsized guilt complex for letting me drive myself into a car accident. If the AU version of me was as much as a roadhawk as I was, I certainly could picture myself lying broken and bleedin at the side of the road with my head protruding through the front window.  
  
Once again, could hardly blame furball here for me trying to commit suicide in very artful way.  
  
"I'm so sorry Will. I really am."  
  
The nonce was inconsolable, which was really sad, even for the poof's ways of nauseating behaviour.  
  
"There, there." I sussed, and patted him awkwardly on his shoulders. "Don't cry now, you big fella, there is no reason to give me another opportunity to treasure this embarrassing moment of yours and hold it against you in the very near future. Believe me, I don't need more comical material to make you look like an idiot."  
  
"You don't understand.I - I have let -"  
  
"Whatever you've done or not, it can hardly be worse then the stuff your alter ego has come up with when I was stuck in that soddin wheelchair. Unless you've whacked on my broken legs with a spiked club before. If that's the case, please do remind me so, and I'm going to bash Mike on the head for his blunt keys to remove your testicles with in a very painful kind of way. "  
  
Liam lifted his head, gazing into my eyes, and I gave him a wavering smile.  
  
"But since you keep telling me we are brothers, I guess I should trust you on that one."  
  
"Will, I would never hurt you. Trust me."  
  
That was exactly what I was afraid of. The bloody wanker wasn't going to leave me any space left in my dead unfeeling heart to hate him. At least not this present mortified version of him, that was.  
  
We stayed in the soddin room like that for what seemed soddin hours, till Mike got his ass back in and told the whimpering poof that I should be going. I've never felt so relieved in my entire existence, whether I was dead or alive. Just when I was going to escape through the door, Liam called me back for a sec.  
  
"Will, I know that you don't want to see me for some time, and I'm willing to wait till you've settled back into life, but I would really like to visit you again once in a while. Just to see how you're doing."  
  
I stared at my alleged elder brother for a moment without saying anything.  
  
"It doesn't have to be a whole half an hour if that's what bothering you. I can keep my visits shorter and less frequent, like let's say, fifteen minutes once in a month. I could even pop in the recreation room for a moment and go again if you're more comfor-"  
  
"Next Friday is fine." I couldn't soddin believe what I was saying, but it seemed that my brains had left the sinking ship for good. "Just don't be as gloomy as this week; I'm already on heavy medication, more Prozac will probably finish me off."  
  
As I was finally able to leave, I caught a glimpse of a hopeful smile on the poofter's face that was warm enough to melt all the ice on the whole bleedin North Pole.  
  
SCENE 4  
  
"How is patient 17 doing?" The middle aged woman, dressed in a doctor's outfit and wearing a long white coat, sat cross-legged at the other side of his work desk, sipping her tea while flipping through William Byron's files. Giles glanced up from his papers, and gazed at his colleague, confused.  
  
"I beg your pardon? I was somewhat distracted."  
  
"Patient 17, he is still under your care, isn't he?"  
  
Dr Walsh waited impatiently for Giles to reply, but as she observed that there was no change in the psychiatrist's puzzled expression, she sighed and clarified herself.  
  
"Patient 17, otherwise known as mister Byron. Age 28, medical history indicating that he suffered from catatonia after waking up from a coma caused by a car accident in 1997. Currently under treatment for a severe form of an undifferentiated type of Schizophrenia. Do I need to provide you with more information Dr Giles, or do you finally recognize your patient?"  
  
"Yes, of course, I do recognize this information as one of my patients' profiles. I was just not used to having them referred to as faceless numbers." Giles reacted agitatedly.  
  
"It's the new institute policy. That way, we won't have to worry about the patients knowing that we're referring to them in corridor conversations. It is a good measure to keep order and peace over the departments. Although the staff will have to be persistent in their actions, of course, otherwise there is no use in any of it."  
  
"Hmm, if I do remember one thing of last week's staffmeeting, it is that this numbering strategy is not mandatory. We can choose as a department whether to adapt this new policy or not, and I for one think it is rather demeaning for the patients. They are guests trying to recover from illness, Dr Walsh, not criminals in confinement."  
  
"Very well, then." Walsh re-crossed her legs, irritated. "Then I will rephrase my question to suit your policy, how is the Byron patient doing?"  
  
"He's doing fine." Giles stared at the woman for whom he felt nothing but ever growing contempt, shooting her what he hoped what was a very confident look. "William has suffered a lot over these past five years, but things are finally starting to look up for him. I've appointed my student Buffy Summers to look after him. She's currently trying to ground William more in reality by introducing him to group sessions with other Schizophrenic patients."  
  
"Group sessions?" The female psychiatrist shifted in her seat and gazed at Giles with a sceptical look on her face. "Do you really think he's ready for that?"  
  
"Although his behaviour is still slightly peculiar, it is really decent enough to have him out of solitary confinement and let him interact more with other people. Buffy and I do believe that by stimulating his social skills, we're helping him forward in the process of full recovery."  
  
"But aren't you worried that he might suffer a relapse? For all the information that this file here contains, I can only conclude that the patient is still highly unstable. He might seem harmless and meek as a lamb, but there is something seriously wrong with his thinking patterns. If these results are right, he can turn extremely violent in a blink of an eye, when triggered. "  
  
"I've read that evaluation report as well, Dr Walsh, but I can assure you that nothing will happen. As I said, William is a peculiar young man, he suffers from certain delusions of being this great evil vampire with no conscience, and he tries to sustain that image by talking and reacting in overly machoistic ways, visibly compensating for his insecurities. There is absolutely no harm in his kind of behaviour, or any drive to do harm to others."  
  
"I still think you should be careful, you have the tendency to rely on your heart when it comes to making important decisions for your patients, and that's something only bad physicians allow themselves to indulge into. I don't trust my heart, Dr Giles. I trust science. If scientific tests had indicated that one of my patients is potentially dangerous to others and to himself, I'm the one who has to make sure that there are serious measures taken to prevent things from going terribly wrong. And although patient 17 is not under my direct care, I do urge you to reconsider your slack policy towards him."  
  
Giles had taken off his glasses and was wiping them clean using his handkerchief, remaining completely silent, although he was growing quite angry of the bitchy doctor's unscrupulous comments. How on earth was this cold and obnoxious woman ever allowed into this humane profession, was still a great mystery to him. They really should screen more carefully before allowing someone like her become a practicing psychiatrist, if not for the sake of her colleagues, then certainly for the sake of the poor patients.  
  
" I'm convinced that he's absolutely not ready to be let out of solitary confinement, and I doubt your mild therapies will have even the slightest effect on him. Perhaps you should schedule him for ETC if his delusional state persists."  
  
Giles coughed in his fist several times. "Cough *Evil* cough *Fishwife.* cough."  
  
Walsh gazed at Giles suspiciously, then opted. "Gesundheit."  
  
"Heh, thanks. Must be the dry weather, I'm a bit allergic to drifting pollen, you see."  
  
"I'm sure that can be very unpleasant, indeed."  
  
"Dr Walsh, your concern about William Byron is, um, quite understandable, but really, there is absolutely no need to make things even harder for him by taking these drastic actions you described, he's adapting perfectly well to our group sess-"  
  
"Giles! I want William out of my therapy group, now!"  
  
Buffy stormed into the room, cheeks flushed with irritation, failing to notice the presence of Dr Walsh completely.  
  
Giles looked horrified.  
  
"Buffy, can you talk to me about this later, I'm in the middle of -"  
  
"I've never had a patient that was this boneheaded! This is the second time that he messes up the morning session. I'm telling you Giles, he only comes to annoy me and to challenge the others to get mad at him and start a fight. I mean, can you even believe this? He is actually trying hard to get his ass severely kicked. If it weren't for me to stop the other guys, he would have been turned into William the Bloody by now. Literally, that is."  
  
"Buffy!"  
  
She stopped her ranting for a moment, and gazed at her mentor, brows furrowed.  
  
"What?"  
  
Giles coughed and cleared his throat, dead worried.  
  
"Dr Walsh is here."  
  
  
  
TBC  
  
ETC: electro-convulsive therapy. Patients are treated with short sequences of high voltages (180 to 460 volt) of electricity to stimulate the "bad" part of their brains. If you ask me, it's freakin medieval torture.  
  
Note: I know, this is the second time I've to split this chapter, but at least I'm productive (hey!). So, the next part is AU Buffy taking the Schizo boys out to play in the warm summer sun. Let's hope that I can really finish the chapter with that. I need to move on to the more interesting (read: sadistic) parts. 


	8. ACT 8: The Big Anti Christ is affraid of...

TITLE: "Normal again" (6/8?) part 3 (Because of length, cut in three parts.)  
  
AUTHOR: Richard Bachman  
  
EMAIL: bachman_rchard@hotmail.com  
  
SITE: nope  
  
FEEDBACK: Give it to me luv, you know you want more of this!  
  
DISTRIBUTION: Do whatever you like poodle. As long as Richard is mentioned I'm fine.  
  
RATING: NC-17 Humor/angst  
  
PAIRING: B/S  
  
SUMMARY: Got this wonderful idea after watching normal again. Instead of Buffy, Spike gets a dose of demonic goodness inserted into his system. As his consciousness is transported to an AU where he finds Sunnydale is no longer the good old Sunnyhell he despises and knows so well, things are getting a bit surreal for the poor bleached wonder.  
  
WARNING: This fic describes scenes of rape, and is dark and angsty but I suppose that we kinda got used to it after watching whole bleedin S6.  
  
THANKS: To anyone for reading my senseless dribble. Love you guys. You truly make wasting my weekends worthwhile!  
  
CHARACTERS: Spike is knee deep in the AU thing. He discovers the benefits of team spirit, has some Angel/Liam interaction, and finds out that sunlight does indeed make him freckle (a bit).  
  
ACT 6: The harsh light of day does not keep me restrained in darkness any longer.  
  
SCENE 5  
  
"Dr Walsh is here."  
  
"Huh?"  
  
Buffy turned around and noticed a bit too late that the strict doctor was sitting at the other side of Giles'desk, and was currently following her annoyed rambling with quite some interest.  
  
"I don't mind her interruption. Buffy, why don't you sit down and join us? We were just discussing one of your patients. Perhaps you can provide us with your insight opinion."  
  
"Oh no, she couldn't possibly. Um, Buffy would you mind to let me speak to Dr Walsh here in private before we discuss your matters in more detail?"  
  
Giles deadly serious expression was enough to hint his pupil that it had been once again a very bad time to speak up her mind. Mentally slapping herself for her slip of the tongue, Buffy immediately recomposed her attitude. Besides, she knew Dr Walsh's reputation too well to feel comfortable to bash her tricky patient in her presence anyway.  
  
"Oh sure. I'm sorry. I didn't know that you were in the middle of something important. I come back later."  
  
"Close the door behind on your way out, will you?" Her mentor added.  
  
"OK. You guys continue."  
  
She swiftly headed back to the door and had already her hand on the door handle when her elder colleague decided that she wasn't going to let her slip out of the room that easily.  
  
"Are you having problems dealing with patient 17, Buffy?"  
  
Just ignore her, pretend that you didn't hear the question, she thought and pulled the door open a bit too fast and a bit too eagerly.  
  
"Buffy, I was speaking to you. At least be polite enough to answer or I would find your behaviour very suspicious indeed."  
  
She hoped that it was not visible, but she flinched as she was called back to clarify herself.  
  
"Ops, sorry. Tend to go really deaf once in a while. It's probably the loud music that they are playing at the Bronze. Giles did warn me that standing too near those damn giant boxes are a sure way to ruin your eardrums."  
  
"I was asking you if patient 17 was causing you any trouble."  
  
Buffy looked confused.  
  
"Who is causing me trouble again?"  
  
"Patient seven- I mean mister Byron. Or William, as you both so carelessly prefer to call him. How is he reacting to your therapy sessions?"  
  
"Oh you mean Will, why are you calling him." She shot one look back at the elder woman and decided not to go in on this one. "Um, He's doing just fine! Very nice guy, if you get to know him really. And the other guys just love him too. He's so." She paused, looking for a word to describe this total dysfunctional individual that wouldn't sound too far off from the truth. "Interactive with his surroundings, particularly when he wants something from you. But interactive in a good way of course, not in a mentally sick, constantly crying out for attention kind of way."  
  
Silently, Dr Walsh kept staring at her.  
  
"Oh yes, he's absolutely adapting incredibly well." She added, trying to sound as sincere as possible.  
  
"Are you saying that he has no tendency to violence and he's not rebelling against your authority?"  
  
"No! Not at all!" She had a very bad feeling about where this conversation Spanish inquisition style was going to lead into and she was trying her best to revert it for Will's sake. "Honest, he's no trouble at all. Meek as a lamb."  
  
"Really? So why did you seem so upset with him?"  
  
"I was?"  
  
"As my short term memory allows me to recall, you were practically referring to him as the Big Antichrist when you rushed in to speak to Dr Giles."  
  
"Oh, I was just jabbering nonsense." Buffy smiled nervously. "I though I give Giles a really good scare. He was acting all busy and important this morning, didn't have the time to speak to me so I became a little bit annoyed, that's all. It had nothing to do with William, really. "  
  
Walsh kept her chilly eyes on the blond girl, then handed her the thick pile of stapled together paper that she had been reading. Buffy took it, not quite knowing what to think of this.  
  
"Did you read this report on his psychological evaluation?"  
  
"No, I didn't. He did the tests last Wednesday, I didn't expect the results coming back this soon. Normally, it takes a week or two."  
  
"That's because the department thought Mister Byron's case was serious enough to pay attention to as soon as possible."  
  
Buffy's anxiety just tripled in response to Walsh explanation.  
  
"What do you mean? Is it really that bad?"  
  
"There are clear indications that Mister Byron is suffering from a very serious form of his disease. He has disturbed thinking patterns and an extremely violent mind. The man we're dealing with here is absolutely a potential threat to the other patients."  
  
"Now, let us not jump into conclusions. These test are a reflection of his state of mind on one particular time point. We should take his daily behaviour in real life into account as well before rushing into decisions." Giles tried.  
  
"I do agree with you on that. That's exactly why the opinion of Dr Summers is so very important here."  
  
She gave Buffy an impatient look, making the poor girl feel as if she was drifting in the open sea on a crappy-self made craft and was circled by a hungry shark.  
  
"Tell me, Buffy. Considering Mister Byron's evaluation, shouldn't we bear in mind the possibility that there may be a need for a more stringent approach then simple group therapy?"  
  
There was no doubt in Buffy's right mind that Dr Walsh was after William. The officious woman was always trying to force her will through the policies of the institute, acting as if she owned the whole place. She had a notorious reputation for her way of running her own wards, governing over her patients like a monarch, not tending them. The doctor was a firm believer in the therapeutic benefits of using cruel and savage methods when dealing with patients which she considered to be hopeless or dangerous, and there were rumours in the corridors that her way of practice was often crossing the limit of what was approved by the board. Still, she was quite influential and well respected by the higher ranking officials in charge, and most of the staff would rather give in to her sometimes impossible demands then to rise up against her. But Buffy Summers was not like the other members of the staff. Breathing in deeply, she managed to compose herself and stop her heart from fluttering in her chest. She had brought William in danger with her terrible sense of timing and she was the only one who could save him now from this dangerous woman's clutches.  
  
"Look, I don't know what the results in this report are indicating, but I do speak the truth here when saying this. William is not dangerous. He may be impulsive and incredibly annoying most of the time, but he won't hurt anybody. He's just all tough talk, nothing more."  
  
"How can you be so sure?" Walsh stated coldly.  
  
"Because - because he's good guy. I believe that he has enough common sense left in him to judge right from wrong. I trust him."  
  
Walsh fell silent, not pleased with the outcome of her inquiry.  
  
"So there won't be any transfers to your department or scheduling for ETCs. I know that you're trying to take William out of our care. Just get that idea out of your head. It won't happen. I won't let you."  
  
"Neither will I."  
  
Giles, moved by the firm stand his student had taken in order to protect their patient, had finally ceased cleaning his glasses and was taking action.  
  
"If Buffy is certain about him then so am I. William is well taken care for in her hands."  
  
He rewarded her bravery with a nod and a supportive smile, and Buffy could feel the uncertainty that had clasped her heart melt away immediately.  
  
"This is outrageous. You're endangering the whole institute with your recklessness."  
  
"No we aren't." Buffy replied, bolder now. "We're helping a patient that we trust to recover. That's all."  
  
"He won't function properly. This is bound to head for a disaster. One for which I will certainly hold you two responsible for."  
  
"Oh yes, undoubtedly you will." Giles remarked. "But please do remind me to make you take back every word you've said when we do succeed. I kind of look forward to prove you wrong and rub it in tactlessly on the day that William Byron is proclaimed healthy and is dismissed from this institute."  
  
The elder woman's face was showing her disgust visibly, the corners of her thinning lips crocked and her cold green eyes stared at the pupil and the mentor full of contempt. Silently, she rose out of her seat. Just before she stepped out of the room, she turned around to have her final say in this situation.  
  
"I don't think you'll have the opportunity to do so Dr Giles. As time will prove, you're once again horribly wrong in your judgements. But if it's your decision to let this madman roam free in the wards of your department, so shall it be. I won't stop you. Just remember that I've warned you about patient 17 when you both crash and burn."  
  
  
  
SCENE 6  
  
"Come on mates, don't look that gloom."  
  
Sitting on the floor of the recreation room, I got myself a nice game of poker going on. I gazed up at the daft wankers, smiling arrogantly, while I wiped the entire floor clean, stuffing the coins, candy bars and crumbled fags into my pockets. Did I ever encounter a more susceptible crowd to fall victim to my brilliant schemes?  
  
"Get out your stakes and I give you another crack at it. Win some of you boys' lunch money back."  
  
Steward, who should be a fire breathing inferno demon in reality but was just a bloke with very bad breath in this wacky dimension gave me a real dirty look.  
  
"We're not your mates, * mate*. And I quit playing with you. You've won about everything I got."  
  
"Not much of a loser, are you?" I smirked. "Well then, anybody else who's chickening out and want to call it off?"  
  
My mate Clem - I'm sorry, I mean the assumed perfectly human "Glen" - and the Fearall demon strangely given the nancy name James shook their heads and tossed their cards on the floor in an act of absolute surrender.  
  
"You're really incredible William." James kept shaking his head in disbelief. "Winning seven times in a row? How can any guy beat that amount of luck?"  
  
"It's not only a matter of luck, mate. It's a matter of technique as well." I placed a fresh fag between my lips and searched my shabby outfit for the box of matches that I had nicked a day before. Finally, after almost two weeks being put on dry, I was getting another shot at the third love of my life. The Slayer being the first and Drusilla and the liquor bottle ranking a close second. "You gotta keep yourself focussed when playing, use your wits. Not like corpse breath here who just keeps tossing his cards out like a crackers sloth machine vomiting coins."  
  
"Hey, watch it bleach boy. Don't start ticking me off."  
  
I lit my cigarette and took a long drag, acting unimpressed.  
  
"Stew, don't do this. You remember what Dr Summers has told us to ignore comments like these coming from him? Patient suffering of serious insecurity issues here!?" Glen tried.  
  
I almost choked on my fag.  
  
" *Cough* What!!?"  
  
"I don't give a damn about how fucked up he is! I'm not gonna let him turn me into his butt monkey just because that Summers woman tells me to swallow all of his crap."  
  
"What did she say I had?!!'" I blurted, ignoring the inferno demon's pissed off reactions.  
  
"Well, she told us that you were having problems with accepting who you are. That you were feeling really insecure about yourself and therefore, was trying to compensate for it by making us feel bad." James explained.  
  
"It was a good thing she explained it all, otherwise it's kinda hard to ignore the nasty stuff you've said to us. But after Dr Summers' clarification it's almost impossible to be angry at you." Glen added, worsening my dread. "I mean, it was so inconsiderate of us to judge you on your behaviour, while all the time you were just scared and lonely, desperately trying to reach out to us."  
  
I felt sick to my stomach. There was that bloody sense of misplaced sympathy again. Why on earth did they all feel sorry for me? Had everybody become suddenly immune to my obnoxiousness?  
  
Do I really need to try even harder to get them react normally toward me?  
  
"Hey Stew, chum of mine. I thought you are going to throw a tantrum when I don't shut my gob about how disgusting and repulsively smelly you are. What's with the waiting?"  
  
The inferno demon eyes flared wide open and were shooting daggers. He leaped up like a foaming dog with Rabbis and grabbed me by my throat. Glen tried to hold him back but failed, resulting into the tosser knocking me over. As I struggled back on my feet, the extra cards fell out of the hidden compartments that I had sewn into my sleeves, landing right in front of the noses of my daft poker mates.  
  
"What the-? You were cheating?!!" James exclaimed.  
  
"Yeah, of course I was." I said mockingly, hoping to get their clocks ticking again. " You didn't seriously think that I could win that often without a bit of help, did you?"  
  
Steward growled at me, his voice sounding much demon-like already.  
  
"On second thought, yeah, you lot are probably daft enough to buy that. I mean you did believe that crap about having a standard of 5 aces in a pack of cards."  
  
That did the trick. Good ol' Stew threw himself at me and before I could even rejoice the moment and feel the much craved rush of adrenaline pump again in my veins, the brute wanker had me fixed to the ground and sat on top of me, whacking me like there was no tomorrow and turning my face into a bloody mess.  
  
This time, Glen didn't even attempt to interfere with me being trashed.  
  
That should have been a big relief and a soothing bandage on the wounded self-esteem of this evil bad-ass vampire if it wasn't for the fact that I got knocked out almost immediately.  
  
SCENE 7  
  
"What are you trying to prove here?"  
  
She eyed at me, annoyed as usual, dapping the swellings on my cheeks with a cold wet cloth while she tried to stop the continues stream of blood that tickled down the corner of my mouth, much to the courtesy of the cut lip that Steward had given me.  
  
I was sitting in bed, not tied up for a change, and was having a major headache after having my features redone by a pissed off inferno demon. The good thing was that Buffy Nightingale had once again come to patch me up. Unfortunately, she was as unpleasantly talkative as ever.  
  
"I didn't want to prove anything. Just got carried away by that wanker. No big deal."  
  
"If you're trying to get yourself killed, do this when you're out of here and I'm no longer responsible for your stupidities, will you?"  
  
I grinned because I could hear her concern through the vibe of her anger, and bloody cursed myself for doing it b'cause it bleedin hurt my face.  
  
"You don't' see how serious this is getting, do you?" She pushed a tad too long and a bit too hard on one of my bruises to emphasize her irritation, causing me to flinch. "I'm telling you, if you don't improve on your behaviour we're going to get into some serious trouble with lady Jaws closing in."  
  
I tried to blink with the one eye that I got left which was not completely beaten shut.  
  
"I don't know what you're trying to tell me luv. Seriously puzzled here. What's with the reference to the fish monster?"  
  
"Dr Walsh. Senior psychiatrist with astounding powers to doom any patient into oblivion because she has friends on high places. All you have to do if you have a dead wish is attract her attention and she will pull her strings to get you hooked up to the ETC equipment before you even can start screaming. "  
  
"So, she's a bit of a cranky bitch then?"  
  
"Oh yes, she's one scary and unpleasant harpy. And I was trying to keep her off your back. She seemed to have some morbid fascination with you, God knows why. She was trying to get you transferred to her department for special therapy."  
  
I certainly didn't like the sound of that. Transfer to another department? If that would ever happen to me I was sure to see a lot less of my Slayer. A light panic entered my consciousness, making my skin tingle.  
  
"So now what, I'm on her list for Santa now? Why is she picking on me for anyway. I don't even know the ol' bint."  
  
"She thinks you're dangerous. Remember that test you did last Wednesday?"  
  
"Yeah." I furrowed my brows. "The one with those funny questions you mean?"  
  
"The one I asked you to fill in very carefully and not to fool around with."  
  
"Look, I did exactly what you asked me to do."  
  
"Will." She tossed the cloth on my bed and jumped right up, agitated. "When you were asked what you wanted to do once released from the institution you answered that you would like to go down to the Double meat palace to get your fangs imbedded in one of the juicy co-workers there. And your favourite colour seemed to be fresh aortic crimson with just a hint of ripped out gut's dark brown. Don't tell me that you were trying your best to be serious when you were writing all that crap down on your inquiry form."  
  
"I was, actually."  
  
"Yeah right! You were obviously trying to sabotage your tests!"  
  
"Hey! You were the one who told me to answer in all honesty. Not to bloody lie to them. I could have made up an entire political correct poofter version of myself to please those pencil suckers in letting me go if it wasn't for trying to keep my word. I'm not completely daft here."  
  
I was getting angry with her. Bloody hell, why had she to be so bloody difficult? And why was everything that went wrong automatically my fault? Does she ever going to consider me more then her convenient personal punching bag?  
  
"Just - just stop acting this crazy."  
  
She sighed, and looked very tired as if she had been fighting off a whole army of demons instead of one bitchy shrink.  
  
"That's easy for you to say. Look, I can't stop being who I am." I averted my eyes and stared at the wall, angrily. "Why can't you bloody see that?"  
  
"I don't want her to take you away from my care. Please listen to me Will, it 's really for your own good. I'm not trying to read you a lesson here or trying to mould you into someone better. I know you too well by now to keep those naïve hopes up."  
  
I kept my gob shut and continued to pretend that she wasn't even in the soddin room.  
  
"Fine, keep acting like a spoiled little kid. I've done my best to warn you. You want to be sent to the hell dimension of modern psychiatry, be my guest."  
  
She turned away from me. Surprised that she was giving up so easily this time, I shot her a short glance, and got myself staring straight into her eyes again.  
  
"I just wanted to tell you that I and the guys are going out on a fieldtrip this afternoon. I want you to join us."  
  
"Thought you said I was on my own now. Why the sudden change of heart?" Smirking slyly I added. "Are you going to reward me from now on for my bad behaviour since whacking me is obviously not doing the trick?"  
  
"Just show up at two. Grouping is in the recreation room on the sixth floor." Without changing her frigid attitude, she left the room, leaving me to ponder what the bleedin hell this was going to be all about.  
  
SCENE 8  
  
Staring at the bright new world that had presented before my squinting eyes as I was standing outside of the institute, I wasn't that dead sure anymore if I was that eager to leave the loony bin this soon.  
  
"Um, I think I need a blanket."  
  
"Nonsense William, it's 90 degrees outside! You hardly need a coat, let alone an extra blanket." Dave again, always the sensitive and considerate one.  
  
"Yeah, what's the matter though guy, afraid the sun will melt the white right off your ass?" Steward of course, always the infuriating ol' git.  
  
Steward gave me a shove and I almost got hurled from underneath the small rim of shadow that was provided by the porch and into an alarmingly bright beam of sunlight, only able to regain my balance and back out of it at the very last sec.  
  
"Hey, watch it tosser! Keep your scaly hands off me."  
  
I pushed the wanker, causing him to stagger a couple of steps backward, and having his back slammed against the rotating doors. The fair amount of yelping that he did because of it was like music to my ears.  
  
"You son of a bitch!"  
  
He was ready to jump on me again, and I was ready to run back inside to kick his ass before he could turn our location into his advantage, when the Slayer rolled out of the revolving entrance and reacted immediately in her usual bossy way.  
  
"Hey! What do you think you're doing! Get your hands off each other!"  
  
Steward had me by throat. I snickered at him till I was reminded that I actually needed to breath in this stupid dimension.  
  
"Steward! Let go of him! You're suffocating him!"  
  
The savage wanker did what she ordered, and I sank through my knees, coughing violently while trying to catch my breath.  
  
"Can anybody tell me what is going on? I spent two seconds trying to organize our lunch and then I find you guys out here trying to kill each other. Honestly, what's wrong with both of you? Can't you play nice for a change?"  
  
"Well, he bloody started it." I bended over and kept my head between my legs, still struggling to breath. "He shoved me."  
  
"Squealer!" Steward yelled.  
  
"It seems that young William has troubles dealing with sunlight." Dave explained. "He kept asking for a blanket for comfort. Poor little thing."  
  
"I was asking for a blanket to shield myself against the sun, you overly feminine freak show. Remember, vampire?"  
  
"You see, major issues."  
  
"I would have been surprised if he hadn't got an issue." Buffy opted.  
  
"Ratty snitch face!"  
  
"Ugly tosser!"  
  
"That's enough! Look this was supposed to be a fun filled roller coaster ride of an afternoon, but it's starting to turn into my friend Anya's wedding party. And let me tell you that that was one hell of a dreadful picnic."  
  
She grabbed me by my collar, and since I was wearing the traditional loony bin's outfitthat looked professionally shabby and was incredibly loose fit, I kinda swayed back up like a funny head on a spring.  
  
"Look, I don't want to go on this soddin trip of yours anymore. You go with these losers. I stay home."  
  
I yanked myself free from her grip, even here the Buff was strong enough to grab and hassle me around. How's that for being pathetic?  
  
"What's the matter this time? You don't want to come with us because of Steward, or because you're afraid of a little bit of sunshine?"  
  
I snapped my head around, gazing at her agitatedly.  
  
"I don't give a rat's arse about the Red and easily Combusting One here."  
  
"So it is the sunlight, isn't it? You are still afraid that you're going to turn into ashes as soon as you walk out there with the sun beating down."  
  
My cheeks became flushed with humiliation as I felt the others ogling at me my like I was some kind of exotic rarity, a freak amongst freaks.  
  
"I need more time for this." I stumbled nervously, much to my own amazement and irritation. "Look, I can't go out there. I'll burn."  
  
There was shift of mood in the Slayer's eyes, and as she spoke again much of the harshness that had sounded in her voice earlier had melted away.  
  
"You won't burn. Nothing is going to happen William. This is a good way to test yourself and face the inevitable. You can't and you won't like to be locked up in the clinic for the rest of your entire life."  
  
"Actually, that sounds really tempting right now." And I gazed through the wall sized windows behind her back into the building with the nice dark corridors, thinking fondly of my depressing but window free room. "I'm done with day time prancing. It's rather overrated if you ask me."  
  
The slayer gave me a friendly smile.  
  
"Come here. Let's do this together." She grabbed me by my arm and pulled me behind her, heading for the border of the small strip of shadows that had been my bloody sanctuary.  
  
"It's just a one minute walk. The bus is parked around the corner."  
  
She stepped over the thin line that marked the end of the shadowy patch, and then waited for me to cross as well, while her hand hold on to me tightly. I had thought that she might just drag me over right into the sun without as much as turning her head to see if I was actually smoking or not, but she surprised me with her considerate attitude and her patience. She just stood there in the sunlight, a encouraging smile on her lips as though she was inviting me to join her.  
  
I waited till the others had passed by and were already halfway down the street, then decided that it was rather chicken shit to not at least give it a try and, after taking one last look at the Slayer, I crossed the grey and stepped into the light.  
  
To be completely honest here, I was expecting to hear a sizzling sound, a smell of burning leather and the sensation of mind-numbing pain.  
  
However, much to my surprise, there was none of that at all.  
  
"You see! That wasn't frightening at all was it? Now can you please open your eyes so you can see where you're going? Or do you want me to play guide-nurse for you as well?"  
  
Usually, this kind of comment coming from her was just begging for a juicy comeback that would make her blush like a 19th century maiden, but at the moment, all the wit had been melted off me by the freakishly scary, but also strangely exciting experience of actually to be standing outside during the day, bathing in a beam of sunlight without so much as a getting sunburn. The sun warmed my skin, wrapping me in a most comforting blanket of heat and I could see an orange glow through my closed eyelids. Slowly, I opened my eyes, blinking and squinting against the sun I saw a whole new world stretch out in front of me that started with the bright yellow and whit flower beds lining the borders of the path leading to the pavement, down the cheery, white houses with bourbon red roofs, up to the two giant maple trees that marked the end of the street.  
  
Everything was so bloody intense and so bloody shiny, it hurt to look around, but I could hardly make myself not to. Had the sky always looked this blue? And the clouds drifting near the brilliance of the sun, had they always been like this, white with just a rim of gold as if a bloody angel had dipped them in bucket filled with dairy dust? Am I having one of my headtrips again or am I really, really here?  
  
Buffy waited once again patiently for me to adjust myself to this strange world, giving me enough time to absorb it all and put myself at ease with these new experiences. I must have looked like a blind bloke who had miraculously regained his sight after having spent most of his life being lost in total darkness.  
  
Finally, our eyes met again again.  
  
"Are you all right William? Do you think you'll manage to join us?"  
  
I gazed back at her and slowly, I nodded.  
  
The smile that she had been wearing widened into a huge contagious grin as she took my hand and lead me further down the sunny path.  
  
TBC 


	9. ACT 9: Murphy’s law dictates that whatev...

TITLE: "Normal again" (7/8?) part I  
  
AUTHOR: Richard Bachman  
  
EMAIL: bachman_rchard@hotmail.com  
  
SITE: nope  
  
FEEDBACK: Give it to me luv, you know you want more of this!  
  
DISTRIBUTION: Do whatever you like poodle. As long as Richard is mentioned I'm fine.  
  
RATING: NC-17 Humor/angst  
  
PAIRING: B/S  
  
SUMMARY: Got this wonderful idea after watching normal again. Instead of Buffy, Spike gets a dose of demonic goodness inserted into his system. As his consciousness is transported to an AU where he finds Sunnydale is no longer the good old Sunnyhell he despises and knows so well, things are getting a bit surreal for the poor bleached wonder.  
  
THANKS: To anyone for reading my senseless dribble. Love you guys. You truly make wasting my weekends worthwhile!  
  
KISSES AND HUGS: To my dear betareader and my muse Olga.  
  
ACT 7: Murphy's law dictates that whatever goes well, must go wrong at one miserable point in time eventually.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
SCENE 1  
  
  
  
My fingers were tapping on the table, tapping at a rhythm of a song I've heard a couple of weeks or maybe a couple of decades ago. It didn't make any difference, for it was too tuneless to be recognized as anything decent anyway. For a moment, I considered whistling too, but my lips were just too dry and couldn't carry a tune.  
  
I was starting to get on his nerves.  
  
"Will, can't you just stop that."  
  
I pretended I didn't hear and ruffled with my fists on the tabletop. The bag he brought with him quivered, and I could hear a couple of bottles tinkling inside. That sounded promising.  
  
"Will! Stop it!"  
  
"Look, I'm just trying to provide some background music to highlight the occasion. Build up an exciting atmosphere, you know, like at those TV shows when people are winning stuff."  
  
Liam sighed and rolled his eyes.  
  
"Just open the bag. You're not winning anything here. It's just some stuff I thought you might need."  
  
Trying not to look too greedy or curious, I grabbed the plastic bag and dragged it over to my side of the table.  
  
"You really know how to spoil this for me. You know that? The next big event I can look forward to is a rerun of the third season of Passions, and that won't be on till over a week from now."  
  
"I didn't exactly say what was inside the bag."  
  
Eying him suspiciously, I took a peek.  
  
It took me one minute and thirty seconds to go through the entire content and conclude that there was nothing in there that could be considered even slightly useful.  
  
"And?" Liam asked, hopeful and moronically naïve. "What do you think?"  
  
"I am amazed. Really." I answered. "I mean, first you asked me if I needed anything. Anything at all. I give you a whole list, neatly written in readable letters, since you complained that my ordinary scribbling was completely incomprehensible, and on a sheet of decent paper instead of using a piece of yellow post-it. Then you come back after a week and manage to bring me a full bag with absolutely nothing in there that I've asked for. Tell me mate, were you really drunk when you went out shopping or did you simply not give a damn?"  
  
"Look, you know I can't bring you any of those things that were on that list."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"You're not allowed to smoke or drink in here." He answered impatiently. "So your request for a couple of bottles of Bourbon and a six pack of expensive foreign beer is really out of the question. The same with the cartons of cigarettes you wanted. And why on earth did you need an two inch blade Swiss army knife for?"  
  
"For stuff." I snapped back, putting the real reason why I needed it behind a locked door at the back of my mind. Didn't want to upset the poof. "Look, I want my bloody fags!"  
  
"Yeah, you can forget about it little brother. I'm not gonna budge and watch you smoke yourself into a lung cancer patient."  
  
"Yeah well, then watch me waste away in here suffering of deadly depressions." I gave him a very accusing glare. "I mean, what the bloody hell I'm I supposed to do with this here then? I don't even do my own laundry."  
  
I tossed the package of fabric softener out of the bag and onto the table.  
  
"I thought you might ask the nurses to have your clothes washed in it. You said it yourself that that outfit they're putting you in are giving you rashes."  
  
I snorted. Really something typical for the bloody poofter to consider. "And why did you bring me these?"  
  
"Ah, freshly bottled apple juice." He said, pointing at it with a content grin on his face. "Vitamins. Something that will built up your strength without turning your liver into purple haggis."  
  
"I'm not recovering from something physical here." I ogled disappointedly at the bottles of urine coloured fluid. I already checked the labels but there wasn't a single drop of alcohol in it. Could have even been delighted with a couple of bottles of cider here. "It's all in my head, remember? So why don't you bring me something that was intended to clear out the mind instead of this nochey hippy stuff?"  
  
"Will, don't be so difficult."  
  
"I'm not being difficult. I'm complaining because I feel I'm being mistreated. Why don't you care more about those wankers in here who stuff me full with shiny little happy pills instead of worrying about my daily intake of vitamins? Since when did you become all maternal?"  
  
Liam pulled that face again, the placid I - am - so - very - not - insulted look, while underneath the surface the whole soddin volcano was raring to go BOOM! I knew that look far too well from Angelus, and if I were a clever bloke I would just stop here with pissing him off. However, this was Liam. The fabric softener version of the bloody poof and therefore even more harmless, I wager. And I happened to be his only little brother.  
  
Surely he would have a wee bit more tolerance for me then usual.  
  
"What's this?" I asked, chuckling sarcastically. "A tube of moisturising skin cream!?"  
  
"It's not skin cream! It's a homeopathic ointment for - "  
  
"And what's all this then? Herbal tea, vitamin pills, bloody cans of sun- dried prunes? What, you accidentally switched brown bags with a constipated old gran?"  
  
"No! I didn't! Look I just thought you might -"  
  
"Oh! Don't tell me, you got this stuff home already. Just cleared out the kitchen cabinets in one mighty sweep and tossed this bag together for poor little Spike. Well, let me tell you one thing mate; no wonder you're constipated with that large stick constantly up your soddin ar- "  
  
Liam leaped out of his chair. The expression on his face was absolutely no longer hiding the deadly eruption underneath; his mouth was crudely hooked, his large hands were clenched into white knuckled fists and if looks could kill. Well, let me say that I would have ended up fitting in a tiny ashtray. Or a very tiny coffin. Nowadays I'm just not sure what I bloody am anymore.  
  
I really don't want to admit this. But I was genuinely scared of him.  
  
Too much Angelus in the bloody poof then I could possibly manage.  
  
He leaned over the table and had me by my loose fitting shirt before I could jump out of the chair.  
  
"Look you ungrateful little brat!" He spat. "I brought you this because I thought it might help you to get better. I'm just trying to help."  
  
"Yeah. Why don't you try staying away from me for a change." My daft mouth was once again quicker then my slow working brains. "I just got enough of your soddin assistance, you bloody poofter!"  
  
I flew with my back against the wall, the chair tossed on the floor with what should have been enough racket to get Mighty Mike in here to save my ass, but for some bloody reason, a nice prank that the cosmic powers are playing on me perhaps (they never really did like me much), he didn't show, and I was stuck with the mouth foaming poof turning Angelus on me.  
  
My spine ached as it hit the tiled surface. Angelus' face hovered a nose length away from mine. I tried to smack him, but he seized my wrists and pinned them down above my head. Dangling there like a bloody defenceless idiot, I couldn't stop all those heavily sealed doors inside my mind from soaring open. Very bad memories surfaced. Dark nights. Decades ago. Sweat and tears. Pain. Lots of it. And blood.  
  
Blood everywhere.  
  
Oh God, I really would like one of those soddin happy pills right now.  
  
His grin was cold and vindictive. Not a trace of Liam or Angel was left in there.  
  
"Dad was right about you. You're one piece of intolerable shit. You won't listen. You just won't till you're smacked around like a bitch." His grasp around my wrists tightened till it became painful. I started to breathe heavily and I tried to kick him with my legs, but he surprised me with a violent blow as he pushed his knee into my stomach. The air was kicked out of my lungs, and I wanted to double over out of pain.  
  
"Even a dumb mutt can learn faster then you can. You wanne try me again, little brother?"  
  
I shook my head anxiously. What's going on? This couldn't real. He.he couldn't be Angelus.could he?  
  
He pushed his crotch between my legs and I could feel his cock trough his damp trousers, hard and erect like a soddin flagpole.  
  
This must be a nightmare.  
  
Please let it be.  
  
"I'll teach you how to behave. You're like a stupid little dog that needs to be told what to do." He hissed, and lowering my arms, he turned me around to face the tiles. When I struggled, he grabbed my hair and banged my head against the wall. It then became frightfully clear to me that, without my supernatural strength and agility, his advantage in posture and weight would make him win in any brawl against me every time. By the time he slipped his hand down my knickers, pushed between my legs and touched my arse, I was too numbed by fear and feeling too defeated to be able to defend myself against him any longer.  
  
The only thing left that I could do was to try to hold back the tears as my eyes became glossy.  
  
  
  
SCENE 2  
  
"Will? William?"  
  
I didn't react. Didn't even flutter my soddin eyelids.  
  
"William! Look, is there something bothering you? If there is, you really should tell me."  
  
"Tell you what?" I asked. We were in the recreation room, Buffy Nightingale and I. The other mental health patients, or loony bin citizens, or whatever I should call them without being politically incorrect were keeping themselves busy in here. They were reading, or playing one of those daft company games like scrabble or apple chess. Most of them were hanging out in front of the telly, drooling over a kiddies program involving a big fat purple dinosaur. I myself was joining a couple of others in their attempt to record whatever was spooking inside our loopy minds on a piece of bad quality canvas. Buffy looked over my shoulder to study my work, and somehow it seemed to trouble her.  
  
"There's nothing bothering me." I lied. "What made you think there was?" I frowned. "Did I do something wrong again?" It came out so naturally that it didn't even surprise me anymore. I mean, come on, it's always something that I've done, isn't? There are people mysteriously killed by a bunch of unidentifiable vampires, oh it's probably Spike. Buffy is suffering of Joan of Arc syndrome and comes to me for a little bit of cold comfort, so the evil fiend had wickedly seduced her of course. Captain Card Board comes back to Sunny D to do a little bit of early Eastern egg hunting, I end up with my lair burnt to bits, just because I want to make some money for the financially troubled Slayer. There is the possibility that our planet is going to be struck by a giant meteorite which gonna end the whole bleedin puppet show; let's grab our pointy sticks and Christmas nutcrackers and go have a jolly good go on the vampire's testicles.  
  
Buffy watched me, guilt written on her face. "Oh no! Absolutely not! I mean, you were very quiet the last few days. Which is excellent of course!"  
  
You see? I'm only good enough for her if I shut my gob and pretend to be a piece of wooden furniture or something. Women.  
  
"It's just." She hesitated and gazed once again at my painting. "Um, Will, don't take this too personally, but what are you trying to paint here exactly?"  
  
"Isn't it obvious then?" I asked, frowning and a bit insulted, though I knew that I was never any good at drawing stuff. I guess she was more familiar with the little masterpieces Angelus used to leave behind on her bed. The asshole couldn't even write a decent grocery list, but he was a hell lot better than me on the ol' charcoal and paint. For some very unfair reason, chicks really seem to fall for that.  
  
"It's a.hmmm."  
  
I blinked my eyes a couple of times, my mind trying to make something out of the chaotic lines and shouting primary colours that were snaking up and down the black painted canvas. Big fat blobs of paints were splashed on the surface, like someone had just gagged all over it. Bloody hell, what was I painting here?  
  
"It's.It's something.abstract." I tried, tilting my head to one side to observe it better. "Probably."  
  
"You used up all the red acrylic paint." She said. "There isn't a single tube left for Steward here to paint his fire with. And I really think you shouldn't let Giles or anyone of the staff see this. I know that it is a part of the art therapy class that you ought to be able to express your inner frustrations, but this." She hesitated, her pretty face showing total disgust. "Frankly, this is just too much."  
  
She tapped on my shoulders, a friendly gesture really, but I got no soddin clue why she asked me to get rid of the painting. It didn't look threatening to me at all.  
  
It didn't look like anything really.  
  
"Just throw it away and start over again." She opted.  
  
"We're out of blank canvases."  
  
"Well.then.I don't know. Paint over it, for God's sake!"  
  
She went to the next Rembrandt; mister Steward the Inferno demon, who was painstakingly drawing tiny little faces on people trapped in a large building engorged by fire. If I was not mistaking, there was a funny little burning figure jumping out of the window from the tenth floor.  
  
And she thought my painting was sick.  
  
It wasn't until we came back after lunch and I approached my work of art from a distance, that I finally saw what I had been painting.  
  
There, in crude, twisted lines and badly chosen colours, was the indisputable figure of a demon. His tall body crooked but powerful, his face partly hidden underneath blots of red paint, illustrating blood, but still chillingly recognizable.  
  
The dark creature was sodomizing a faceless young man, the naked victim's body pressed helplessly against a brick wall overgrown by creepers covered in thorns.  
  
There was red acrylic paint just about everywhere.  
  
I didn't scream or anything. Just grabbed the soddin thing straight off the easel and tossed it in the bin, pouring a pot full of thinner over it till the recreation room smelled like a toxic chemical plant and I got yelled at by that wanker Steward. I didn't give a rat's arse about it. Just made sure that the entire coat of paint was stripped off the canvas before I turned my back on the whole thing.  
  
I think I'll give up art therapy for a while.  
  
  
  
SCENE 3  
  
I had a bad dream last night. No, not a bad dream. More like a soddin nightmare, really. I was in a living room. Large. Nicely decorated and immaculately clean. Modern. With an impressive wall sized window that reached to the floor, looking out at a green and lush garden. I noticed that the weather outside was bloody awful. A thick blanket of dark clouds hung low over the horizon, gushes of wind stripped the trees in the garden from their green foliage, and tiny specks of rain appeared on the glass. Somewhere far away came the rumbling of thunder.  
  
I was still not myself in that dream. Funny, isn't it? Even in my sleep I'm not allowed to be Spike. I have to be content to be William, the eternal victim.  
  
Anyway, Liam was there too.  
  
This time, he was even a bigger poofter then he normally is. He was really upset, pacing around the place while running his hands through his hair, tense enough to yank bits out of skull, so to speak. Not that he ever would of course. He wouldn't function properly without his pointy hairdo to scare off the other demons with any sense in hairstyling.  
  
But so to speak.  
  
"Look, Liam." My voice was trembling, anxious. My throat was awkwardly dry. "I don't think you can go on like this. You need help."  
  
"I don't need any help!" Liam turned toward me, his face damp and sweaty, his grim eyes desperate. "I'm. I'm sorry. I'm sorry for those horrible things I've done to you but. you have to understand. I cannot help it. I. "  
  
His bit on his lower lip, tears shining in his eyes.  
  
"I wasn't myself."  
  
"I know it's not your fault." I tried to reason with him. "You're not.him. You're not violent and.and not vindictive. I know that you care about me and would never do anything to hurt me. But he's just getting too bloody strong. Liam, please. Go see a doctor."  
  
"You don't understand." He hissed. "I can't afford to go see someone for help! They're gonna lock me up for this!"  
  
"You bloody well have to! It's getting worse and worse every time."  
  
"It will pass. It always does. Sometimes he stays away for months."  
  
"Liam, listen to me."  
  
"And - And if it gets too bad, I still got those pills Dr. Kiernan has given me. I can repress my blackouts with those. Make him go away." He said it as if he actually believed in it. That a couple of those cheap Prozac imitations could save him or me from the monster that was threatening to take over his life.  
  
"Liam!" I was screaming instead of talking. I was bloody well done talking. "Don't you have any bloody idea what you've almost let him do to me? He was trying to get into my knickers and fucking rape me! If I hadn't whacked him on the head with that soddin lamp, you could have.You."  
  
I was suddenly out of air as my stomach started to object. I retched dry, my emotions getting the better of me. I saw Liam approaching tentatively, as if he wanted to offer help, but finally didn't dare.  
  
"How long do you want to wait before you decide that it's enough?" I asked. "Till you're no longer yourself anymore? Till he has taken over completely and I've lost my only family that I have left to that bloody sadist? Is that what you want?"  
  
There was a long, burdened silence as I waited for his answer, which never came. Liam just kept staring at me, his eyes praying for forgiveness, his lips perhaps mumbling it softly without the words reaching my ears, but for my tensed nerves and my wary mind, that wasn't anywhere near enough anymore.  
  
"Right then." I said, turning away from him with as much dignity as I still could manage. "If that's what you got planned for the rest of your life, I'm leaving."  
  
I went upstairs to the guest room, emptied the closets, jammed my clothes in my bags without giving much notice, and rushed back downstairs again. In the hall, Liam was waiting, blocking my way out.  
  
"Will, you can't leave now. We have to talk." He started.  
  
"We're done talking."  
  
"It's getting worse outside. You have to stay, at least till the bad weather is over."  
  
"I'll take the risks."  
  
"Look, Will... Just give me another chance and listen. Listen to me, will you?"  
  
"No. It's done. I've made my point with you. You've got to see a doctor for this. A proper one. Not Dr. I-don't-have-a-licence-to-practice-and-I'm-not- really-a-doctor Kiernan. That bloke picks bullets out of gangsters and prescribes drugs to addicts. You need a head doctor. A bloody shrink. Get it?"  
  
I pushed him out of my way, and to my surprise, he let me through.  
  
"As long as you're still convinced that you can survive like this," I added, swinging the front-door open and gazing at the rain that was falling out of the darkened sky in buckets outside, "I would rather not come here to see you anymore."  
  
As I stepped through the rain, heading for the rusty green Lincoln that was parked at the end of the deserted suburban street, I knew for certain that my brother kept watching me till I got into my car and slammed the door close at the driver's side. I caught a glimpse of him in my side mirror, still standing there in the rain in front of his porch after I started the engine and drove off.  
  
The dream ended in a series of hazy tidbits. Small snapshots. Nothing fancy. As if my brain suddenly decided that it had done enough for one night and filled the remaining airtime with badly edited parts, like what TV channels usually do after primetime. The only thing I did clearly remember was that my hand was pierced by tiny pieces of the car window, and my blood mixing with the rain and the mud.  
  
I guess it was all just a dream, and I should forget about it. It's not like I'm expecting to have this same thing over again tonight, and since it's only Monday, I still have three days left before the poof's visit day. No reason to go out of my mind here and talk myself into doing total cracker stuff.  
  
Tomorrow, I'm gonna have a huge bowl of cereal, drink a glass of that apple juice Liam brought me and have a good laugh at this daft nightmare of mine. Perhaps I'll even tell Buffy about it, so she can tell me to sod off with my paranoid ramblings. Just to keep a bit of normal dialogue between us flowing, you know.  
  
However, for tonight, I am a bit nervous to go to sleep.  
  
TBC 


	10. ACT 10: Love is a confusing thing, I sho...

TITLE: "Normal again" (7/8?) part II (Because of length, cut in three parts.)  
  
AUTHOR: Richard Bachman  
  
EMAIL: bachman_rchard@hotmail.com  
  
SITE: nope  
  
FEEDBACK: Give it to me luv, you know you want more of this!  
  
DISTRIBUTION: Do whatever you like poodle. As long as Richard is mentioned I'm fine.  
  
RATING: NC-17 Humor/angst  
  
PAIRING: B/S  
  
SUMMARY: Got this wonderful idea after watching normal again. Instead of Buffy, Spike gets a dose of demonic goodness inserted into his system. As his consciousness is transported to an AU where he finds Sunnydale is no longer the good old Sunnyhell he despises and knows so well, things are getting a bit surreal for the poor bleached wonder.  
  
THANK YOU: For your patience. I love to write, but unfortunately, I also have to do other stuff for a living.  
  
ACT 7: Love is a confusing thing, I should know, being love's bitch and all.  
  
  
  
SCENE 4  
  
If it wasn't for the fact that William had mentioned these titles himself, Buffy would had never guessed that her patient's taste in books was so peculiar.  
  
She was heading back from a one-hour lunch that had consisted of a canteen style tuna sandwich that she munched down in a hurry and flushed away with half a can of tepid diet-coke. She then went to the big Waterstone bookstore at Fleet Street, spent fifteen minutes staring at the backs of rows and rows of books before she decided that she was not going to risk a permanent neck injury for this and went to wait in the long checkout line for the cash-register to ask for some assistance. The people in front of her moved like snails, and of course there just had to be one eccentric geezer among them who liked to pay his 8 dollar paperback in coins and lose buttons instead of real cash. Finally, after another fifteen minutes of waiting and bitching, she managed to get one of the salesladies away from behind the counter and find her the titles she had been looking for.  
  
"You know dear, they are sorted in alphabetical order on author's names, really." The elderly woman said, frowning upon her either for her laziness or her naivety for not knowing too much. "It just works like a library. You do know how to find books in the library, right dear?"  
  
Buffy Ann Summers, a 23 year old PhD student with a master degree in psychology, blushed her cheeks crimson and had stammered something along the line that she was in a kind of a hurry, paid for the books and left the shop while making a mental note to herself that she was absolutely never going to visit that bookstore again, which unfortunately would become a problem since there was only another small second-hand bookshop in Sunnydale left for her future literature purchases. If she needed to buy anything more specific or in a better shape in general, she had to get on the bus and travel 15 miles down to next town to get it.  
  
"You better appreciate this, Will." She mumbled beneath her breath as she changed back into her hospital outfit and put her regular clothes away in her locker. "Thanks to you, Dawn's gonna get a Britney Spears CD instead of a Ann Rice novel for her next birthday. But I guess there wasn't that much competition in the first place, anyway."  
  
She brushed her hair into a ponytail, locked her closet, and grabbed the brown paper bag from the bench. As she past the hangers on her way out of the ladies' locker room, she snatched her doctor's coat off the hook and shrugged it on while she rushed down the corridor, heading for the recreation area. She was still struggling to secure her nametag on her collar when she bumped into someone tall and brooding.  
  
The paper bag dropped out of her hand, spilling the books all over the floor with most of them flapped open with the cover side up, just like peanut-butter sandwiches. She knelt down to recollect them, meanwhile hastily apologizing for the incident.  
  
"Here, let me help you."  
  
She looked up, and wasn't a bit surprised to find herself staring into the dark hazel eyes of William's brother. That pinewood scented aftershave Liam Byron wore, it tend to seep into your memory in an irreversible way, like a person's own body-scent tend to soak into their bed sheets and clothes.  
  
"Penny Dreadful, American Psycho, Red Dragon and -" Crouching next to her, he picked up the last book and turned it 90 degrees to read the title on the cover. "David Copperfield? Forgive me for saying this, but you have a weird and slightly suspicious taste in books for a doctor." Liam smiled, raising a dark, handsome eyebrow. "Except the last one of course, they made me read that one in high school."  
  
" Oh, hi Liam!" She said, feeling a strange fluttering come up in her stomach as their eyes met. "They're not mine, really. They are for William. He asked for these titles in our library but they didn't have them. Wasn't really a surprise, they're kinda on a small budget and the most recent books they have added to the collection are second hand and include titles like "Addicted to Baskets", "The exciting World of Needling", and "A thousand and one Recipes for baking Fruitcakes". Hardly any reading material for any of my patients."  
  
Liam stared at her for moment with a lost and puzzled expression on his face, then the rusty penny finally dropped and he burst into a pleasant chuckle.  
  
Buffy smiled back at him, her heart now quivering in her chest like crazy. Okay, she thought, you almost freaked him out or bored him silly with your clever jokes. If you're trying to impress this guy, please don't. Yes, he's cute, and handsome, and tall, and probably sane, but it doesn't mean that you have to fall head over heel for the first decent guy you find hanging around this sterile place. Keep some dignity here, desperate lady.  
  
She shook her head for a moment, her ponytail wagging cheerily along. Focus Buffy, be professional.  
  
"You're kiddin." Liam sniggered and put the books back into the paper bag and handed it over to her. "Addicted to baskets. Hah! Good one."  
  
They both rose up at the same time. Buffy held the bag in front of her chest and wrapped her arms around it, looking much like a nervous school girl facing the local football hunk. Her facial muscles were aching because she tried to smile sweetly while trying to suppress a nervous twitch at the same time.  
  
"And that part about Will reading American Psycho!" Liam continued. "Honestly Buffy, you're smart and funny!"  
  
"Um, well, actually, he really did ask for these books." Buffy felt her cheeks flush warm, feeling strangely embarrassed.  
  
"Oh." Liam's mouth dropped open for a moment. "Oh. I didn't know he likes to read this kind of - um - literature." He sucked in a breath of air and puffed a lock of hair away from his eyes. "Seriously, all these violent thrillers about murdering psychopaths." He furrowed his brows in concern. "Are you sure this is safe for him? I mean, I don't want to question your judgement or anything. You are the one with a PHD in psychology here. But my little brother's mind is already kinda twisted. Won't these books somehow make it even worse?"  
  
"Well, um." It was now Buffy's turn to furrow her browns, what could she to say to that? She wasn't very keen on the idea of giving her patient a book load of violent inspiration to get him sicker then he already was, but Will really wanted these books. He had been bitching and moaning about the lack of good reading material in the library for weeks now and Buffy could tell that he was bored silly, particular since she had taken away his packs of cards after the gambling annex cheating fiasco where he got himself beating purple by Steward. The last few weeks however, William had kept himself quiet and pleasant towards the other patients, and Buffy liked to reward him for his good behaviour.  
  
"Don't worry." Her hand made a brushing movement in the air as if to clear away his concerns. "I think he can handle this. Will's behaving quite normal lately, and has even made some friends with the patients of his therapy group. I think he deserves a treat."  
  
"All right." Liam tense from relaxed a little. "If you believe they can't do him any harm."  
  
"You're here early Liam, it's only Thursday." Buffy asked, trying to change into a more comfortable subject. "I thought you usually come to see Will on Fridays?"  
  
"I took a day off from office to spend a long weekend here." A conspicuous grin appeared on his lips together with a mischievous twinkling in his hazel eyes that made him look very attractive. "Don't tell Will yet, but I have a surprise for him."  
  
Liam had a dark leather briefcase with him that Buffy hadn't even noticed until now, and the young man pulled up his right leg and put the case on top of it, clicked it open and grabbed out a thick envelope. He handed it over to Buffy while he balanced on one foot trying to shut the briefcase again.  
  
"What is it?" Buffy asked, curiosity getting the better of her. "Can I have a look?" She already had her forefinger under the small pocket of space beneath the front flap and was eager to flip it over to take a peek. A delayed "No." coming from Liam wouldn't be much appreciated.  
  
"Of course. It's only something silly and sentimental. Nothing incriminating to the Byron family, really." Liam laughed, he was finally finished with struggling with his briefcase and dropped it on the floor next to him.  
  
Buffy opened the large, brown envelope. The paper crisped between her fingers. There were photos inside. She took the stack of pictures out, carefully handling them as they seemed to be rather old and brittle. Her blue eyes met those of a little boy's, piercing and striking against the faded, yellowish colours on the background. The boy was looking right into the camera, his small arms clutched around a stuffed toy. He had his head cocked to one side and had a very familiar, very confident smirk on his young and innocent face.  
  
"Oh God, Is this who I think it is?" Buffy asked, giggling cheerily.  
  
"Yes, I'm afraid it is Will, that cocky grin of his never changed much over the years."  
  
"He looks so - so sweet." Buffy frowned and regarded her patient's brother with disbelief. "Are you sure we're talking about the same guy here?"  
  
"Our mom took that picture when he was seven. Guess the real wickedness only got into him after that age."  
  
"Perhaps your real little brother got lost on one of your mom's shopping sprees and she took the William we both know and fear, home by mistake."  
  
Liam snapped his fingers. "I knew that there was something wrong with him when he suddenly refused to play with his mister Fluffy Bunny."  
  
Buffy smiled pleasantly, this time it came easy and natural, and she noticed that the mad pounding of her heart had somewhat eased down. "You've got to be kiddin me. Mister Fluffy Bunny. Who would have guessed that from Will with his whole "I am a Big Bad vampire, so bite me" attitude. By God, I swear I'm gonna rub that in on him, professional integrity be damned."  
  
They went through the whole stack, pointing and smiling occasionally. There were pictures of Liam and his parents as well, and from the look of them, Buffy would say that William must have had a very pleasant childhood, with a loving and caring family to look after him. His brother in particular, seemed to be crazy about his younger sibling. They were together in almost every picture, playing and having fun as two boys of their tender age were supposed to do in a carefree world.  
  
"I thought it might help him to remember a bit more about his past and his family." Liam explained, putting the photos back into the paper holding, being very careful with them as if he was handling a priceless treasure. "I think he's responding well on my visits. He hardly snarls or bites or spits on me anymore." There was a smile on his face to indicate that he was joking, but it looked rather sore.  
  
"You have to be patient with these things." Buffy said, trying to cheer up him up. "Learning to trust and love someone again starting from emotional scratch takes time."  
  
Liam nodded, understandingly. "Still, I wished sometimes that I could see what was going on in his head. What is wrong in there. Some loose bolt that just needs to be screwed back on." He averted his eyes from her and bit on his lower lip. "I think he knows who I am, Buffy." His expression grew grim, and a hidden pain surfaced in his voice. "Really knows, with the whole emotional package attached to it that would allow him to act normal towards me. You know, like we are brothers again?"  
  
She nodded in response.  
  
"But something, something is holding him back from fully trusting me." He ran his hand through his hair. His fingers became sticky of the excessive hair gel he used. "He doesn't really trust me you know. I've been coming for months now. I talk to him. I bring him stuff, everything he needs that doesn't get him into trouble. I tell him about mom and dad, everything. He nods and he answers me, doesn't swear too much and hardly gets caught up in one of his raging tantrums anymore." He sighed and gazed back into the doctor's eyes, pleading with her to understand. "But he's also careful, calculative. He doesn't just say what in his mind when he's with me. He's holding something back. Christ, if I didn't knew any better, I'd say that he was afraid of me."  
  
"Liam." Buffy tried, feeling sorry for the man as she noticed the sadness and despair showing on his face. "Sometimes, if a patient is detached from the world for so long, like William has, it's difficult for them to accept and get involved with their friends and loved-ones again. William has made the first steps towards recovery by letting you into his life. He doesn't protest to your visits, and as I heard from him speaking to his friends, he really does look forward every week to see you." That was little white lie that she made up to make Liam feel better, since Will hardly talked about his brother's visits to anyone, but she decided that it couldn't do both of them any harm to get Liam less worried about his little brother.  
  
"He does?" Liam asked her warily.  
  
"Yes, absolutely. So stop worrying yourself silly. It's probably just a phase he's going through. I think he's more afraid of accepting the reality that he has such a caring and loving brother looking after him then that he's scared of you hurting him in anyway."  
  
Liam arched a dark eyebrow and nodded again. "I guess that sounds like a rational explanation. Especially since it's coming from a professional. Thank you Buffy." He smiled a little, lifting some of the anxiousness clouding his grim eyes. He continued on a lighter mood. "Um, do I need to pay for this session separately or is the bill automatically included with Will's?"  
  
"No such luck mister Byron, you better take out your check-book, ten whole minutes of my valuable time, it's gonna costya." Buffy teased, showing him a warm and pleasant smile.  
  
"Oh bummer, and I got only a couple of loose change in my pockets. Um, do you accept creditcards Dr Summers?"  
  
Buffy shook her head. "No creditcards, only real cash will do, and don't try to pay me in lose buttons, shiny objects or foreign currency. I'm not getting paid much, but I'm not that desperate either."  
  
"I guess I have to clear my dept to you in another way then. What do you think of a five course dinner at an expensive and decadent seafood restaurant in town, my treat."  
  
She was stunned for a moment, opened her mouth to say something and then forgot completely how to speak English. Some primal noise came from here throat that sounded like; "Grahw, huh?"  
  
"Um, I promise that there will be lobsters? Or if you happens to be allergic to them, large cocktail scrimps?" Liam tried.  
  
"Grawhaha. Gwgrrahhahum. I would -I absolutely -" Buffy uttered, her tongue seemed to be tied into a knot and she couldn't get the words out of her mouth.  
  
"If-if you're don't want go, it's fine. I know it's kind sudden to ask you out. You hardly know me -" He stared down at his shoes where a very interesting blob of mud clung.  
  
"I'd absolutely love you." Buffy finally uttered. Then sucked in a deep breath as she realized what she just said. "To let you take me to dinner. I mean, I'd love to go." Her cheeks flushed and she felt terribly hot. Great move Valley Girl, making yourself look like a complete airhead sure is very attractive.  
  
Luckily, Liam didn't seem to mind her hormones inflicted little mix up, and he acted like a true gentleman by ignoring it completely.  
  
"Great! I'm here for the whole weekend, but the place I want to take you is less packed on Saturdays. Shall I pick you up at seven?"  
  
"I've a shift from twelve till five next Saturday." Buffy said, reminding her schedule. "But we can go out directly after work. You can pick me up from here."  
  
They discussed a little further about the details, then Liam said goodbye to her, promising that he will certainly be on time for their date, and they parted their ways. She twirled around and continued her stroll down the hallways to the recreation room, her feet dancing on air and her head filled with fluffy bunny thoughts.  
  
SCENE 5  
  
It wasn't that he hated to watch the telly during daytime or anything. Hell, he had been dreaming that he watched bad daytime programs all the time when he was vampire, but that was something he wasn't quite allowed to think about, since it had to do with his delusions. Dr Buffy told him better to concentrate on the things in reality. Little things that made him emotionally aware of his surroundings, including those that could get him winded up about. Like how that wanker Steward kept switching between Ophra and the Home Shopping Channel right now, till it could almost invoke a bloody epileptic stroke.  
  
He had to push his nails into his palms to keep himself from punching Steward in his ugly mug. What the bleedin hell is wrong with him? Can't he just keep watching something for longer than a one hundredth of a sec? Why did that wanker had to have the concentration capacity of a soddin fruitfly?  
  
He glanced at Steward, sitting there in the only comfy chair that wasn't reeking of stale urine or falling part in general, holding the remote control in his right hand and pushing on the buttons repeatedly with his disgusting red scaly thumb like he was ramming on the knobs of a soddin pinball machine. The urge to get up, whack the remote right out of his hand and then to strangle the bloody git was almost driving him crackers. With difficulty, he averted his eyes from the source of his annoyance and glanced out of the barred window instead. Sucking in a ragged breath that he slowly breathed out again, he shut his eyes and tried to ignore the sounds of fragmented conversations and static noise coming from the screen. It wasn't right to get upset about these things. He wasn't going to gain anything from getting really pissed off at Steward. However much he would love it right now to separate his ugly head from his spine, he had to control himself. Clear the rage out of his system. Ignore it. Keep his bloody gob shut. Particularly that.  
  
He had not forgotten that it was that daft wiseass attitude of him that got him into this catastrophic kind of trouble in the first place.  
  
He opened his eyes warily, opened his hands and looked down at his palms; his nails had made half moon rims in his flesh, which were bleeding a little. For a short moment, he felt the urge to lick them clean, but then he remembered that he wasn't really a vampire and therefore the whole lapping his own blood thing would be considered very disgusting instead of intimidating, so he decided to let it go. Quick thinking Spike. Dr Buffy is gonna be pleased. But you really shouldn't call yourself Spike anymore, you're just William now, remember?  
  
He felt a mad giggle coming up, rising from his stomach like an itchy crawly insect, but he didn't want to let Mike or the one of the other orderlies to see that he was laughing about nothing in particular (Now that would be a real sign of madness, the sort that would get you wrapped up in tight, comfy white jackets in no time.) so he swallowed the gleeful little thing, and kept staring blankly forward instead. Nice and easy, not troubling anyone. Sitting there in his chair amongst a semi circle of drooling loons around the idiot-box from nine in the morning, letting his life slip by and watch the shadows cast by the barred windows stretch and shrink till the entire meaningless day was over and he was allowed to go to bed to have his bloody awful nightmares. Oh sure, life was hell in here, but he was fucking nuts so he just had to deal with it.  
  
His hearing, although blunted by the drugs that were seeping slowly through his veins, could pick up the rattling of gate in the chain-link fence that kept the inmates from walking in and out of the daytime facility. He lifted his head and turned towards it a little. Something moist and warm dripped down his chin, and he was slightly aware that he was drooling. Great, he thought, the catering service with the fancy pills has arrived, just in time. I could use a handful of mind numbing goodness right now. Come to think of it, I could use the whole soddin car. Prozac, Paxil, and those pretty little shiny Rudex capsules, I take what ever you got nurse, as long as I can off myself for a couple of hours, I'm one happy little camper.  
  
He swallowed, but his mouth stayed dry, and he was rather surprised to hear Buffy's voice nearby, talking to him.  
  
"Hi William, how do you feel today?"  
  
He turned around, and saw her standing there behind him looming over the back of his chair. She looked extremely pretty today, with her hair kept together into a happy ponytail and wearing a bit of make up on her blushing face that made her look like a young cheerleader. Hand her the pompoms, put her in a short sexy skirt and blow the trumpets, and she could be starting the game with a spelling spree. It's a petty she probably doesn't have any of my medication with her. That would have really made my day.  
  
"I'm fine." He blinked his eyes and tried to look a bit more alive, then suddenly remembered the drool on his chin and tucked out his sleeves to swab it off, embarrassed. "Only a bit bored I guess. Steward there doesn't seem to be able to make up his bloody mind about what he wants to see."  
  
The fellow inmate didn't turn around from behind his chair, but stuck out a one finger salute towards him as an answer.  
  
"Fuck you Byron. It's my turn this week."  
  
"Steward! Manners! Or do I have to come over there and confiscate the remote?" Buffy said in a strict voice.  
  
Steward muttered something inaudible under his breath in response.  
  
"It's okay, luv. I'm not watching anyway." He eyed at the annoying fellow inmate, feeling that tinge of rage rising again, but repressed it by averting his eyes and concentrating on Buffy's. "I um, am waiting for the shiny happy pills to arrive. Say, weren't they suppose to distribute them around two?" He blinked his eyes again as they became hazy. He really didn't feel well. "Isn't that about now?"  
  
"What are you talking about?" Buffy asked, sounding concerned. "It's only eleven o' clock in the morning." She reached out and planted a soft, warm hand on his forehead. "You're not ill or anything, are you?"  
  
"Not more then usual." He sniggered. "Maybe it was something that you guys put in my breakfast this morning. I thought the cereal tasted kind of funny, like crunchy bits of smoked weed."  
  
"You're not running a fever." She pulled back her hand that he regretted instantly; her touch had been very comfortable and somehow made him feel less bad about himself. "Maybe you're just watching too much TV. They say that getting too close to the screen will wreck your eyes and can possibly microwave your brains."  
  
"In that case, I insist that you have that devilish thing tossed out. I'm here for my health and not for having my brains turned to mush." He joked, while his body broke into a cold sweat as if uttering the words alone were already taking him too much effort.  
  
"Speak for yourself Byron, you don't wanne watch, your turn for next week goes to me." Steward shouted from behind his comfy chair, his yellow eyes never leaving the screen.  
  
"Or you can sit a couple of rows back to protect yourself from the deadly radiation." Buffy opted and smiled supportively, ignoring the nasty remarks coming from the obnoxious patient. Come on Will, you're doing fine, don't let Steward get under your skin. He really isn't worth the trouble.  
  
He shut his eyes for a moment, and counted back from ten, slowly. Buffy watched him as he tried to compose himself, his chest rising and falling several times as he breathed in deep through his nose. She didn't notice the white knuckled fists with the edges of his sharp nails digging into his flesh though, and so she had the impression that her patient was handling the situation rather well.  
  
He opened his eyes again, and the first thing he saw was Buffy's warm and encouraging smile. He grinned back at her, a bit nervous and faked, for he felt there was nothing to bloody well smile about, and then addressed the other inmate in a composed and polite voice.  
  
"You can have my turn if you want, mate, but I was only fooling around with getting rid of the telly thing. No need to get your knickers twisted." His ears were ringing, like they had been exposed to a heavy metal band plugged in to a couple of giant boxes. Somewhere at his back, a drop of sweat was rolling over the small of his spine.  
  
"Like hell." Steward snorted, but didn't add another nasty remark to stir things up. He was probably content with the opportunity of having gained another week of continuous zapping.  
  
Buffy was visibly relieved that her patient was handling the confrontation so well, and there was a sense of small satisfaction that made her smile widen broadly. "No swearing Steward." She opted. "You know the rules, and as for you mister Byron." She handed the crispy paper bag to him. "I believe you can keep yourself busy with these."  
  
Will gazed up at her in surprise, then turned his attention to her gift. He turned the bag upside down and the paperbacks tumbled on his lap. Picking them up one by one, he looked at the titles, furrowing his brows.  
  
"You bought these?" He asked, eyes blinking in disbelief. "You bought these for me?"  
  
"Well, I was at the bookstore to find something for Dawn." Buffy muttered nervously, never much of a liar. "I thought, perhaps I could pick up something for you too. You know, to keep you from wrecking the recreation room or drawing the blood under my patient's nails out of pathological boredom."  
  
There was an expression of gratitude on his face and Buffy felt that strange fluttering sensation inside of her again, rising slowly as William's lips curved into a pleasant smile.  
  
"Thank you." He simply stated, and there was none of that tinge of mocking cheer that she had expected sounding in his sincere appreciation. "I'm gonna read them instead of letting ol' Steward here ruin my eyes with his cracker's zappin."  
  
A warm feeling came over her as she looked into William's eyes, and suddenly she recognized the boy from Liam's photos in this grownup man. That look he gave her was warm and caring, innocent. Sad. There was something in this far too frequently obnoxious guy that made her want to wrap her arms around his shoulders, hug that little boy inside of him till that sadness went away and plant a comforting kiss on his forehead to make it all better. To make whatever was troubling him disappear so he could become the carefree, loving boy again that she had seen in the faded pictures.  
  
"You're welcome." She said, being a bit overwhelmed by what she felt inside, but instead of giving in to her urge to coddle him, she just gave him a gentle squeeze in the shoulder.  
  
SCENE 6  
  
She felt something for me. She really did. I knew for sure, because she did all these special things for me. Gave me these little signs. She tried to defend me against that git Steward, tried to help me to keep myself under control. That smile on her pretty little face, you could defrost an entire jumbo-sized freezer with it in less then a sec. I loved that smile of hers, the way her eyes wrinkled in the corners, the giddy little sounds her throat made.  
  
I could just live and die for that smile.  
  
I was sitting on a wooden bench in one of the green, sterile looking corridors in which you could easily get lost since they all looked the same. The afternoon sun was gliding past a barred window at my right. Outside, the crooked branches of an old maple tree told me that I was somewhere on the second or third floor of the institute. The leaves were starting to bear the colours of autumn, although it should be still be somewhere in the beginning of September, at least, if I could still remember correctly with my drugs stained brains clouding my judgement. Smiling nervously while I thought of her, I brushed through the pages of the first paperback from the pile that she had given me. David Copperfield in Penguin edition, complete with the bright orange cover and printed in the cheap quality paper as grey as the type of toilet sandpaper we inmates used to wipe our arse with in the privy. I've read the book before, of course. My faked recollection told me it was a whole century ago. Back then, my first copy had been bounded in leather and the title had been engraved into the thick cover with golden, curving letters. It bought the book fresh from the print and with the smell of inks still lingering on the pages. I read it by the light of a flickering candle, living David Copperfield's life through the words of an amazing storyteller.  
  
Still, that wasn't real of course. None of those memories were. I had never lived in the Victorian era. Had never been a repressed young English gentleman with a small heart and a passion for books. I didn't die in 1880 to return as a bloodthirsty vampire with a grudge against anything decent and organized, a feeling of resentment towards anything that tried to compose order in world of chaos.  
  
Never had encountered Angelus or Drusilla either.  
  
Angelus, my breathing became fast paced and irregular by the very thought of him.  
  
My hands were damp, and the smooth cover paperback slipped through my fingers. I didn't pick it up immediately, rather closed my eyes and covered my face, bending forward while letting my elbows rest on my knees. I must have looked pretty desperate to any orderly or head-patient passing by.  
  
I was actually rather desperate.  
  
Ten more minutes. Just ten more minutes and then, Mike was gonna take me to see the poof. My stomach objected to the thought of this "pleasant surprise". Didn't expect him to show up till tomorrow afternoon. I really hoped that this was an exception that he came to see me on a Thursday and that he wasn't planning on making this into a weekly thing again. My mind was wilful and pig headed strong with a way in dealing with my brother's frequent visits, but in the end, it could only handle so much. I breathed in deeply, trying to keep my lunch inside where it should be. Didn't want to make a mess. Buffy would think that I was ill and get all over- concerned. Perhaps she would start asking questions, and I really don't want to tell her anything. Besides, I was a bit worried that the pills that they had given me weren't dissolved yet by my internal juices. I didn't want to get them out of my system, just at the very moment when I really needed them. I couldn't face Liam without any medication to calm me down, I really couldn't. One wrong look coming from him and I would start screaming like a girl.  
  
A bitter taste of bile rose in my throat and I bended double as my stomach revolted like I was stuffing myself with cow-dung or stale blood or anything just as disgusting. I lurched, a warm sour smelling fluid with mixed texture splashed on the green tiles just in front of my bare feet, next to my paperback.  
  
I heaved a couple of times more, but most of my retches were dry. Squinting my teary eyes down at the puddle of yuck on the floor, I saw that there were tiny capsules floating in it like canoes lost in the soddin mangrove of partly digested bread, oxtail soup and squishy bits of vegetables.  
  
Bloody hell, I just barfed up my pills.  
  
Dropping on my knees, I tried to pick them out of the mess, hands shaking like mad out of frantic despair. If anyone of the staff saw me doing this, it was gonna be hell. I swept through the revolting substance with both my hands, my trembling fingers unable to get hold of the slippery little things. My breathing had become ragged and my heart was quivering like a soddin earthquake.  
  
"Will, You're brother is here to see you." I froze like a rabbit staring in the headlights of a heavy truck. Mikster was coming, just turning around the corner thirty feet away from this sad Prozac-addict who was trying to fish out his happy pills from his own pool of vomit. I heard his heavy, padded footsteps (Beefy Mikster wore paper sandals) resonate down the corridor. Really desperate now, I swept up a handful of barf with a red Prozac swimming in it, and lapped it up, swallowing the gooey mess while trying to ignore the compulsory contractions of my gullet.  
  
It was bloody disgusting and it wasn't nearly enough. I usually get a whole handful of medication in the afternoon, a powerful mix of two red Prozacs, three green Paxils, and two nameless blue pills, all served in a fashionable paper cup that went down nicely with a gulp of water, but I've learned to munch them like they were tasty M&M's. They worked faster that way. One shitty little pill washed away with a semi liquid version of my lunch was never gonna make me tranquil enough to face the bloody poof.  
  
"Will? What are you doing down there?"  
  
I gazed up at the broad orderly, nervous and tense like chord. A drop of perspiration dripped in my left eye, making me blink.  
  
"My God, are you feeling all right?" A large hand wrapped around my right arm, supporting me up in a semi tugging sort of way. The blood must have rushed straight out of my head because I felt nauseous immediately, and although I was in time to cover up my gob with a shaky hand, I lurched again, launching a good dollop of gag all over Mike's blue paper sandals. The small red Prozac pill got stuck between his toes.  
  
Things never went easy in my life, it would be the end of sheer logic, chaos will rule and God himself will weep on the day that something went right for me for a change.  
  
"I'm, I'm sorry." I muttered. Staring at the tiny red dot on Mike's left foot. I felt utterly helpless. No drugs left in my system to keep reality out, no pleasant shroud of unawareness that could protect me. I was going to be fed to a hungry lion without so much as a loincloth to keep it from biting my nuts off.  
  
"It's okay, buddy." I caught Mike trying not to look at the rancid stuff dripping off his shoe. "We'll clean up the mess later. Are you all right? Do you need to sit down for a moment?"  
  
"My stomach is upset. Lunch didn't went down well, I guess, but I'm fine, really." No need to get Buffy or Giles or anyone else who had the mind probing authority to ask pushy questions for a second opinion here.  
  
"You're sure?" Mikster frowned, disapprovingly. "Will, you look as pale as a ghost! Maybe it's better for you to lie down for a while. I get Dr Summers to take a look at you and I'll tell your brother to come to visit you tomorrow."  
  
"NO!" I responded, my voice a bit too loud and a tad too shrieky as I was swept up by panic. "Don't! Don't tell Liam to come back tomorrow! I can go see him now. I don't feel that bad anymore. No need to disappoint him." I got a vivid mental picture of Angelus showing me all the four corners of the tiny visiting room just for not getting into my pants today because Mikster was too concerned for my short term health to see any danger for me obtaining permanent damage here. Restrained sexual tension tended to do such thing to my good ol' Grand Sire. I would rather get it over and done with, then to have to go through something that would bear much similarities to the burning infernos of hell tomorrow.  
  
"But you're in no shape to wander around!" Mike protested.  
  
"Look, I'm fine, mate." I lied, tilting my head towards him and giving him a huge grin. "It's just the stuff they're serving at the canteen that got my stomach upset, that's all. If you really want to make me feel any better, ask them to stop recycling the food out of the garbage bin. Like we wouldn't notice!"  
  
Mike laughed a bit, which was a good sign. "You're at least still able to bullshit around, aren't ya? Still bud, you're not gonna go anywhere today. I help you back into bed and you'll just have to stay there till Dr Summers tells you that you can get out again."  
  
"I'm not ill Mike! I told you I'm fine!" I paused, a sudden stroke of pain hit me hard, wicked enough to turn my innards inside out. It made me gasp for air and made my eyes all teary, while I bended over in agony.  
  
"Great Will, very convincing indeed. Just don't be too surprised if they give this year's Emmy to someone else. Now, tell me if you can walk. If you can't, I'm gonna grab a wheelchair for you."  
  
"Bloody hell Mike, please!" I pleaded, my voice quivering out of strained effort and desperation. "Don't lock up in my room! I want to see Liam. He drove all the way from his LA to visit me and I don't want to let him down. He's - he's my only family that I got left and for so far I know, the only one who gives a bloody fuck about me." Wincing at the unintended pun, I liked my dry lips, my mind spinning while I thought how nice it would be not to have to tell Mikster here my little white lies and be able to let him drag me back to my lovely padded cell so I could deal with my nausea in silent agony. No such luck of course, at least not if I didn't want to have bits of me spread all over a large area of tiled walls, that was.  
  
My bad over-dramatized acting worked better then that the orderly would have guessed, and the professionally concerned expression on his face changed into a display of pity towards this poor loony-bin patient.  
  
"You're gonna barf all over him you know." He protested weakly.  
  
"Risk taken. Look Mike, I don't mean trouble. I go with you to see Dr Summers as soon as the visiting hour is over, I promise. I just don't want Liam to think that I'm having a relapse or anything and start worrying about me again."  
  
"Yeah. Well. I guess I can give you something to keep the nausea away for a while before you go."  
  
"That would be nice." I said, although I doubted that it would help. I knew very well where all these sudden pangs of withering pain and all this urge to retch my guts out was coming from; my body rejected Liam's much dreaded presence like a soddin heart transplant gone stale. I hated his visits, hated the pain and the humiliation that they brought and the fact that I couldn't do a soddin thing about it to stop him from taking me every time he turned into that sadistic monster Angelus.  
  
I just bloody hated myself for being so pathetically weak and so easy to get.  
  
Try getting raped by your very own flesh and blood once a week for four months in a row, and you'll get to know the same sickening feeling of utter defeat, of betrayal. The kind that eats both your mental and physical health away from the inside out, till you're empty and cold, desperate enough to gobble down your own gag, to tell daft lies to save yourself from bloody torture while all the while you're balancing on the edge of sanity with one foot dangling above a bottomless abyss.  
  
I told you I was desperate.  
  
Mike helped me to get tidied up. Didn't want to turn up all smelly and disgusting to give Liam a chance to get upset, now do we? Mike also made me take a couple of children aspirins. They were tiny and tasted like candy in my mouth, but I guess it was better then nothing. I was already ten minutes late when he brought me to the small visiting room that lay behind the two barred fences to see my brother. Walking all the way down the hallway to what I considered a small pocket of hell on earth, I tried to calm myself down, and made my mind to think of something pleasant. Something that could still make me smile and make me believe my life wasn't just all fucked up beyond any hope. I thought of how she had surprised me with the copy of David Copperfield this morning, recollecting that million watts smile of her while feeling the smoothness of the paperback's cover between my trembling fingers, and I somehow, I remembered how to breathe normally again.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
TBC 


	11. ACT 11: Back from hell and here again

TITLE: "Normal again" (7/8?) part III (Because of length, cut in three parts.)  
  
AUTHOR: Richard Bachman  
  
EMAIL: bachman_rchard@hotmail.com  
  
SITE: nope  
  
FEEDBACK: Give it to me luv, you know you want more of this!  
  
DISTRIBUTION: Do whatever you like poodle. As long as Richard is mentioned I'm fine.  
  
WARNING: Skip this chapter if your fainthearted.  
  
SUMMARY: based on episode Normal Again. Instead of Buffy, Spike was poisoned by the demon and his consciousness was transported into an alternative reality where he found himself incarcerated in a mental institution.  
  
THANK YOU: For your patience. I love to write, but unfortunately, I also have to do other stuff for a living.  
  
ACT 7: Back from hell and here again.  
  
  
  
SCENE 7  
  
There were things in life that weren't quite that easy for me to understand anymore ever since I had found myself a reluctant citizen of Sunny D's residential home for basket cases. My memories had to be one of them. Ranking high at the top of my list of soddin mysteries that is the burden of being mister William August Byron. If I were indeed the vampire called Spike I once had so firmly believed to be, I shouldn't be remembering anything, shouldn't be evoked to certain feelings of melancholy when observing these silly family snapshots. Shouldn't recognize the old folks in the pictures to be my dear mom and dad or remember that warm summer day back in '90, when my parents took us to Lake Michigan to spend the holidays. And that photo with my brother Liam in a yellow ducklings swimming gear, raising two fingers to form rabbits ears above my head shouldn't had brought a smile on my face.  
  
But it did.  
  
"Do you remember that we went swimming, and mom told us to stay in the children's area?" Liam asked, his eyes hopeful. We were sitting around the table in the tiny visiting room, my brother and I. A pile of photographs was spread out on the table.  
  
"Yeah." I said, brushing through a series of photos. " It was daft though. The water in the deepest spot didn't even come up to my chest. You could hardly call it swimming. It was more like waddling." I opted. "And we were dipping in yellow kiddie pee. That place was for babies and toddlers."  
  
"So you convinced me that we should swim out into the lake. Get past the orange safety line and try to get to that rack that was floating right in the middle of the bay."  
  
I nodded, the memories of that day flooding in like a rich, heavy fluid pouring into a glass of water, sinking into the bottom of my awareness, feeling so very real that I had no trouble letting it displace the memories of other, much darker days.  
  
"I thought that it would be a laugh. All the older and cooler kids were there, and I was almost twelve. I figured I could swim thirty feet into the open without cramping out in panic." A grin crept up my face. "Guess I was wrong eh?"  
  
Although he rolled his eyes, his widening smile and the crow's feet at the corners of his eyes reassured me that his annoyance was only badly faked. "Will, you started to panic as soon as you couldn't touch the bottom anymore. I got the scare of my life when I looked back over my shoulder and saw that you were gone with only your pale little arms sticking above the water. "  
  
"I almost drowned." I uttered, and closed my eyes for a sec. Although it had happened more then a decade ago, the panic of that moment, of not being able to breathe and the sensation of sharp cold water penetrating my lungs, the stinging in my nose and the noise of rising bubbles rushing my ears, stuck out in my memory, forming a recollection that was as solid as a rock and as clear as the soddin lake itself. Why did I remember this now? Why couldn't I remember this yesterday or the day before? Did that car accident have something to do with it? Wipe my memories clean, locked them up in a dusty closet in the back of my mind, till my dear brother here was so kind to open them for me with his treasured stack of family snapshots, making me remember how it was to live this normal life of a normal kid who had grown up into a not so normal bloke. Well, not in the mental-department at least. After three months of relentless therapy, I wouldn't dare to even give a second though of me being an evil blood thirsting vampire. That chapter had passed. I had given up on it, although I had troubles adjusting to my new role being the pathetic nut of the loving Byron family.  
  
My head buzzed, as if it had just become heavily loaded. Somewhere in the dark, a small part of me was objecting to the invasion of these light, warm, and very forceful recollections, and clung desperately on the last bits of insanity that was left; mental images of blood and death and sin that was supposed to be worth a century of time in the life of a ruthless vampire, but had proven to be nothing more but my own sweaty delusions at the end. My hands shaking, I covered my eyes and tried not to listen to the merciless throbbing in my temples.  
  
"Will, are you all right?" Liam asked. He sounded awfully concerned and I cursed whoever was supposed to be up there and had decided to make my life a living hell for letting my brother care for me this much. I couldn't hate him when he was kind to me. When he was also Liam as much as he was Angelus. Bloody hell, now I was letting him screw with my mind as well! Soon there would be nothing left of me but a bloody appendix attached to the poofter's cock. Some mindless idiot that opened his mouth and swallowed on command. Such a pathetic, fucked-up mess I was.  
  
"Will? What is it? What's wrong?" I heard him push back his chair, the legs scraping on the tiles and walked over to me, his steps wary. I flinched as if struck by a blow as he placed his large hand on my shoulder.  
  
"Please Will." His voice was calm, masking his anxiety underneath. "Tell me what's wrong. I want to help."  
  
I swallowed hard. Tears stinging my eyes as I looked up and gazed at his grim expression. "You saved me that day. You saved me from drowning."  
  
"I did." Liam said. A small smile crept up his face, lighting up the bleakness in his eyes. Hope tends to do such silly things to him.  
  
"I don't want to remember it." I uttered. Distress clouded my judgement, loosening my vigilance around my brother that had been up and running ever since the first time Angelus came out to play. But I couldn't help it. My heart felt so heavy that I thought that it would bloody well sink to my toes if I didn't throw this out of my system. Tell my brother to stop torturing me with this before he drove me into complete madness and I ended up strapped in a straightjacket for the rest of my miserable life.  
  
You could say that I was pretty much like a soddin elephant hopping on a minefield.  
  
"I don't want to know how good you've been to me!" I hissed, anger rising like bitter bile, desperation choking my throat. I grabbed a couple of photos from the table, my hand clawing on them like a vulture holding on a dead furry animal. Liam's eyes widened in horror as I started ripping them into pieces. "I don't wanne remember how mom used to bake cookies with us at Christmas or how dad used to turn our home into a ghost-palace to scare to crap out of our friends at Halloween. I don't wanne know how much they loved me before each of them died." My vision became blurry as my fight against my tears left me defeated. "I don't wanne remember my family. They're gone now. All gone. There is no one left but me."  
  
"What are you talking about, Will? I'm not gone. I'm still here for you! Please don't do this to yourself." Liam stuttered, no longer trying to sound calm. He stared at me with eyes wide in shock as if I had gone mad, or madder.  
  
"Oh, you are gone too." I said. I licked my lips, tasting salty tears. "Only you don't realize it yet. Please, stop torturing me like this. Just -just leave me alone. Don't try to make me care about you. Let me remember all these things that you ever did for me. We can't be brothers anymore. Not without you driving me to the point of snappin."  
  
"But-But why? I don't understand. What-What have I done, Will? Tell me what have I done!"  
  
I rolled my eyes, aggravated. The dull throbbing in my head had become a mad pounding, but it almost seemed merciful compared to the agony and frustration I felt, the crimes my brother had committed becoming more painful every minute past as memories of our shared childhood filled my heart with love and respect for him. It hurt like hell.  
  
"Why-" I managed to say, although my voice was barely more but a whisper. "Why can't you just stop caring about me? Why won't you just let me hate you?"  
  
"Because I can't." He crouched down beside me. His hand on my shoulder trembled. "I can't let you hate me. I can't let you slip away. We're family, Will. The same blood runs through our veins. Nothing in this world is more important to me then you are."  
  
His words hit me hard in my sub-consciousness and sent shivers down my spine. I had heard them before, in another time and perhaps in another world, and I knew what worth they were coming from him. I wanted to jump up out of my chair and call him a bloody liar. Wanted to break something, trash the room and scream my lungs out. But I was hurt and undone, and all I could do was start sobbing like a child.  
  
I slipped off the seat, my body weak and cold. I wanted to hide away somewhere dark, curl myself into a tight little ball, put this ugliness all far behind me. Instead, I crawled under the table, pulled my legs up against my belly and pushed my knuckles into my mouth, biting on them till I had the coppery taste of blood on my tongue and my sobs were muffled into soft whines.  
  
Liam looked at me, his restless eyes showing endless pity and the corners of his mouth were strained, and trembling. "Please tell me what's wrong, Will." He uttered, his own emotions barely under control. "I beg you. Please tell me what's going on. I can't bear seeing you like this."  
  
I gazed up at him, this man who was supposed to be my brother, my family, my blood. My mind was numbed and my resolve was broken, tired of fighting a brawl that was already lost. I didn't want to lie to him any longer to keep myself safe. Could no longer deny myself from facing the truth either. Angelus had done something to me that could never be undone. He had taken a part of me, a part of my being that I needed to be able to trust and care about others, and had turned it into something ugly. My emotions were so fucked up now that I couldn't distinguish seething hatred from true love and even if I did finally acknowledge it, this supposedly pure and upright virtue was constantly tainted by a haze of blinding jealousy and became eventually poisoned by my own selfishness.  
  
Angelus was a soddin monster with a capital M, and he taught me well.  
  
I loved my brother, I really did. He was a kind and selfless guy who wouldn't hurt a fly and wished nothing but to see me happy. I got a head- full of memories to proof that. But I had to tell him about Angelus. Perhaps he already knew. Like I told you, I was having nightmares confronting him about his nasty evil twin. Perhaps he didn't know or he just pretended he didn't so he could live with it. It wouldn't matter. I just wanted to get it over with and had this burden off me before Angelus came back to finish his job on me.  
  
Swallowing hard, I gathered the last bit of courage that I had left and told him what was on my mind.  
  
"You - You hurt me. You let him hurt me."  
  
Liam's face paled, his mouth dropped open as if I had just shoved an icicle through his heart.  
  
"I never - What do you mean? I don't understand. I would never, never hurt you - "  
  
"Not you. Him. Angelus. It was Angelus. Every time you came for a visit. He appeared and - and - "  
  
"Angelus? Who is Angelus? " There was a spark of terrified recognition in his eyes. "Him. You don't mean - No, Will. No! That's not possible!"  
  
"It was him. You lost control over yourself a couple of months ago and when you did, you became him. He tortured me, Liam! I couldn't fight him off. Believe me, I tried but he was stronger then me. I couldn't stop him."  
  
"No! No! No! That couldn't have happened. I haven't had a blackout in years. You must have dreamed it! You must have been delusional! There's something seriously wrong with you, Will." He stood up again, looking down at me, a sane man who had observed his brother's madness in its full ludicrous glory and was absolutely horrified and disgusted by it.  
  
"Why are you doing this to me, Will? I only want you to become better again, for things to go back to normal between us. But you keep making up all these terrible things about me."  
  
"I'm not lying!" I yelled through my tears. "You have to believe me, Liam! He was really here, and - and he raped me! He bloody raped me!"  
  
Liam shook his head in dismay. "Lies William. All lies. You're very sick, my little brother. I had hoped that these three long months under Dr Summers' care would have helped you to recover from your madness. But it only gets worse." He sagged over, leaning with his knuckles on the table, his expression grim. "Perhaps I should have listened to Dr Walsh after all. She told me that your condition was far too severe to expect any improvement when I continued to allow Dr Summers to put you in social therapy."  
  
A wave of panic hit me when he dropped the name. Walsh, I knew her. Skinny dried up old hag with a heavy scent of antiseptics lingering around her permanently. I only met her once as she brushed by in the corridors while I was on my way to group therapy, and she had eyed at me with a sort of unsettling predatory covetousness. And Buffy had mentioned her once or twice, used her as a boogieman to scare me off when I misbehaved myself, although everything coming from her pretty little mouth was as much threatening to me as a basket filled with fluffy kittens.  
  
The thought of being subjected to Dr Walsh on the other hand, did easily scare the crap out of me.  
  
"What do you mean?" I muttered, lips trembling.  
  
Liam loomed over me, tall and massive, as self-assured and unyielding as the real Angelus would have been, addressing this ungrateful, lunatic childe. His hands slipped into the pockets of his dark coat where they formed bulges under the leather, as he bald his fists. His nostrils flared with every breath he took and a paralysing cold sunk into my stomach when the last sane part of my mind reminded me of how painful it was to have his knuckles bruising my skin and creaking my bones. How much brute strength could surface in this man when he was in rage and how weak and defenceless I myself was at this very moment.  
  
I didn't dare to look into his eyes. Afraid to see that his soul had fled the place and the monster had already taken over control.  
  
"Christ Will. I don't know how to say this, but -" He sighed, his voice dangerously calm. "It's time for you to face the facts here. You just can't keep blaming me for everything what had happened to you. I am not the one who's mad, William! I'm a sane, healthy man. You're the one who's suffering from delusions, from the ridiculous idea that you're a century old vampire called "Spike". " He spat the name out as if he was tasting something vile. "You made up this entire world where people are constantly bugging you, misunderstanding you, and casting you out like a fucking pariah. And still, you can't help yourself from fleeing back into this hell you've created and turn your back on the people who truly loves and cares about you. Why Will? Why do you want to torment yourself like that?"  
  
I couldn't speak, my tongue useless, my mind gone. All I could do was weep with hollow eyes and shake my head feverishly. Staring at him from down on the floor like a sinner begging to his God almighty for forgiveness. His hands slipped out of his pockets and smoothened his hair. A pained grin appeared on his face.  
  
"And then you invent this vampire character called Angelus. A ruthless, evil man that you hate and loathe and spends every breath cursing him till you almost choke in it. He looks like me, sounds like me. Tell me Will, do you really hate me so much that you have to make him up to hurt me? Because if you did, congratulation on a job well done." His voice sounded sarcastic, angry, hurt. It added guilt to my growing collection of maddening emotions that were ripping me apart. I continued to shake my head, terrified that he wouldn't listen, that he didn't understand that I was only trying to warn him. I wasn't mad at him. I didn't hate him. He was the only family I got left.  
  
And Angelus was taking him away from me, wiping him out before my very eyes. There was nothing I could do about it.  
  
"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" I blurted out with a voice so weak that it was barely audible. The cold inside of my stomach gushed through my body and I hugged myself, trying to find some warmth and comfort. "I didn't mean to - Please - Please, you have to believe me! I'm not lying to you! I'm not crazy! I'm not crazy!"  
  
My body started rocking back and forth as I hugged myself even tighter. My heartbeats drummed in my ears and the noise was soon accompanied by a dull pounding when I hit the back of my head against the wooden table-leg repeatedly. My glossy eyes pleaded with him to understand. "I'm not crazy, Liam. I'm not crazy - I'm not crazy - I'm not crazy -"  
  
I had to admit that I must have looked rather unconvincing.  
  
Liam crouched down beside me again. His features gentle, composed. He raised his arm and placed his hand on my damp face, wiping some of the tears and sweat off my cheeks and stroking back wet strings of hair from before my eyes. I breathed in deeply trying to calm myself, as even these little gestures of kindness was threatening to bring me to tears.  
  
"Poor William. My poor little childe. So very confused."  
  
I froze, the words hitting me like a cold gush of wind on the first proper winter-day. Panic caught me by the throat, choking the air out of my lungs. Inside my head I could hear the last bit of reason slam the door behind him and lock up the place so that the terrible nightmares lurking in the dark couldn't get out to wreck havoc. The problem was that the wanker had kind of forgotten to let me out first.  
  
"Angelus?" I whispered, my eyes set in an expression of pure horror and disbelief.  
  
A demonic half smile crept up his face that looked downright horrendous with the caring look he gave me, as if some part of Liam was still in there somewhere, trapped inside with that monster. His grabbed me by my hair and yanked my chin up, making me stare right into his eyes. They were blacker then night, his pupils lost in pools of darkness.  
  
"So you figured it out at last. What took you so long? Too busy with brawling your eyes out, Will?"  
  
"Liam - Where is Liam?" I stumbled, feeling smaller and more helpless by the minute.  
  
"He ran with his tail between his yellow legs as soon as you told him about our weekly rendezvous. Nice guy, that Liam, never much of an open-minded fellow though. I guess you've scared him off with your little confession." He gave me a huge grin, exposing his teeth like a shark would, right before he took a bite out of your soddin legs. "May not be back for a seriously long time. Heck, who knows, perhaps this time you really blew it and he's moving out permanently, leaving me in charge." He raised his other hand and pinched my nose in an almost affectionate kind of way as if he was trying to charm a child. "That means that I'm gonna be in charge of you too, my dear little brother."  
  
He tugged me up, pulling me by my nose, pinching hard enough to give me a nose bleed. He tossed me over the table. I hit it with a wheeze and my hips struck painfully on the sharp edge. I struggled to get back up, but the crushing weight of Angelus' body pushed down on my spine and the back of my neck as he forced me down with his knee and hands. The pressure on my chest pushed the air out of my lungs, and the flat wooden surface stung in my ribs.  
  
I was trapped, unable to move or defend myself like a wriggling rain-worm strapped under a giant microscope for him to toy, probe or cut open. My heart quivered. Fear blinded my every thought and paralysed me as it had done so many (too many) times before when I was left at the mercy of this ruthless man. He leaned forward, his mouth brushing my neck, breathing on my skin with his hot breath.  
  
"And so it ends." He whispered in my ears. He unbuckled his belt and zipped open his pants, crushing me with his weight. "Just like how it had once begun. Me, on top. You, at the bottom, helpless, weak, a rotten pile of misery. Face it, Will. You're mine. I broke you centuries ago. You don't think a little mind trip into whatever alternative reality you've created can stop me from claiming you?" He hissed, baring his teeth in a furious snarl. "Nightmares don't just stop haunting the weak because you've decided to pretend to be someone-else, someone stronger. Someone you're not. You cannot outsmart them or fight your way out. Sooner or later, they will get to you eventually. And when they do -"  
  
He yanked down my pants and knickers, and a sudden cold struck my flesh as my arse became exposed.  
  
"They gonna make sure that your life turns into a living hell."  
  
I trembled out of shame and fear, the knowledge of what he was going to do to me wiping out every thread of resistance that I could have offered. I bit on my lower lip and pushed out ragged breaths between my sobs, praying that it would be all over soon.  
  
You would think that after so long, it wouldn't hurt that much anymore, but it bloody well did.  
  
He slammed his cock inside of me. I could feel it, hot and hard, tearing my innards as it pushed through with the vindictiveness of a punch in the stomach. Pain seared my body, dry as a bone as I was when he forced himself on me. My stomach banged on the table with every violent thrust that provided him pleasure and caused me agony, while shame crept up my tears stained cheeks.  
  
I had lost everything. My brother. My will to fight. Perhaps even my ability to reason. No sense of self-worth was left in me. Everything was so fucked up, and there was no way out of this hell because it was real. It was reality. Angelus was right, I could pretend to more then I was, hide myself behind a brave façade, a different name perhaps, but eventually, the monsters would smell my fear and find me. Rip me apart. Tear me to pieces.  
  
I was beaten, lost in darkness. My will to live gone. Nothing Angelus could do or say could ever affect me anymore. I just didn't seem to care what would happen to me after all this. I had hit rock bottom.  
  
He used me as it pleased him. His cock growing harder with every demeaning act he forced me to perform on him, with every pain that visibly struck me as he tortured my flesh. It didn't matter anymore. I took everything he bestowed on me, letting him rape my body and poison my mind. I was no longer there. The lights were still on and the kettle was boiling over, but the owner had left the building, witnessing his own predicament though a window of blurry tears.  
  
If it wasn't for what he had said just after he had pulled his cock out of my gob, I might had stayed in that cocoon state forever. Letting him do these horrible things to me, while I was condemned to spend the rest of my life behind padded walls.  
  
"You know, Will. I look at you right now, and I'm amazed. I never would have thought that you would be given up so easily. This whole alternative reality thing has really driven you around the bend." He swapped away a pale string of cum dripping down the corner of my shivering lips while I kept staring up at him, meekly. "I'm not complaining here of course. That must be your best blowjob ever, especially if you include all the times you tried to bite off my nuts as some kind of revengeful foreplay. Although it might be that I kinda miss the old fangs scraping part." He traced his fingers over my face, and then pushed his thumb into my mouth, I closed my lips around it and suckled on it, my body reacting on impulse in a way that had been beaten into me a long, long time ago.  
  
The monster smiled, Sylvester grinning on his Tweety-bird. "Such a good lad you are. So very obedient. Just like a fucking dog. And this the result of what? Three-four months of psycho-therapy under Dr Buffy's maternal care? Christ, I would love to see what a whole year under Dr Bitch's Spartan treatment would do to you." He giggled gleefully." There would be absolutely nothing left."  
  
My eyes grew wide in frenzied horror, and Angelus stared back at me, cocking his head to one side and showing me that predatory grin again.  
  
"You don't think Liam is going to leave you to Dr Summers are you? Don't be so naïve, Will! Not a chance after what had happened today! The poor guy thinks you've snapped out completely. Lost every bit of trust that he had in seeing you getting better under her care, although it wasn't much to begin with. It's just taking too long for him. Didn't he tell you that he came here a day earlier to speak to Dr Walsh? He's arranging to get you transferred into her ward. She's gonna get to you, little brother, like a hungry shark closing in on a piece of wriggling bait. I'm afraid it's bye- bye Dr Buffy and say hello to a bit of old fashioned treatment, something to flash the madness out of your mind, so to speak."  
  
The message hit me like a bomb. Gone was the sense of numbness, of deadness that had allowed him to use me like a helpless, worthless being. Buffy, he was going to take her away from me. He was going to hand me over to that cold-hearted bitch-doctor who was going to lock me up into solitary confinement for the rest of my life. No chance of seeing Buffy again. No one left to give me comfort, no kindness or love to chase away the darkness that was threatening to engulf me.  
  
No hope that everything would eventually turn out to be all right.  
  
Angelus kept looking at me as if he was studying an amusing new species of bug, something vulnerable and revolting like a worm or a maggot, something easily squashed.  
  
"Ah, don't look like that, Will. You know it's not my fault that it has to end like this. You only got yourself to blame here. If you've acted a bit saner around Liam, perhaps have acknowledge him as your brother, he wouldn't have ended up asking me to help him out. Honest Will, that tongue of yours isn't really connected to your brains, is it?"  
  
A bitter anger rose inside of me and filled my mouth with the taste of copper. What right did he have to tear her away from me? Buffy's presence was the only thing that I had in my miserable existence that made me wanne live. Without her constant support and care, I would have slit my wrists months ago. He could not take her. I wouldn't let him. I forced myself to take control again, stop my wracking sobs and to draw in slow steady breaths, swallowing my fears.  
  
"You can't do this." I said, voice trembling. "I need her. I need her more then anything else. She's the only one who keeps me sane around here."  
  
"Well, looks like she's not doing a very good job. You know, I think I kinda agree with Liam. You've become beyond pathetic, Will. You used to be a predator, a killer, now look at you. You dropped all the way down the food-chain. Even grass can kick your ass now."  
  
"I don't know - I don't understand why you can get here. You don't belong here. You're not real!" I said, louder now. "There was no Angelus. There had never been an Angelus. There are no such things as vampires."  
  
"Oh no, you're right. And Steward and company aren't really demons, they're just special in a very freaky sort of way." He chuckled maliciously. "Tell you what, if Liam decides he rather doesn't come back from his vacation to the far boundaries of insanity, I'll help you out. Tell Giles that I'd rather have you transferred to Dr Walsh's care immediately. That pretty blond thing isn't good for you at all."  
  
I let out a ragged roar, a primitive, maddened scream as white hot anger hit and blinded me from my fears and anxiety. I jumped up, faced my tormentor and drove my fist at him. I hit him hard, crunching my knuckles on his jaw and sent him reeling over, crashing down on the table. He snarled at me, his features twisting in pain, a rich trickle of blood down ran his chin. Although I was a bit amazed that I had pulled it off to hurt him, I didn't give him much time to recover from my lucky shot.  
  
Snarling like a furious dog, I drove my elbow on the back of his neck, just before he could struggle back up. He screamed in pain, and slammed back on the wooden surface, cursing me for all that it was worth.  
  
"You treacherous, poisonous childe!" he roared. "I'm gonna make you pay for this. I'm gonna make you pay for this dearly. You're never gonna see that little bitch of yours ever again!"  
  
I swallowed hard. Wicked evil vampire or not, he really shouldn't have said that.  
  
"You are not taking her away from me!" I hissed, as fury drove me to violence, a fury so scarlet and bright that I could hardly believe that it had been inside me for all these months. My hands grabbed something nearby, one of the chairs made out of massive heavy wood, and raised it above me head, ready to smash in his soddin skull. Pounding in on this monster's ribs, creaking his limps and pulverizing his flesh till he was no more then a bag of skin covering ruptured organs and broken bones. Images flashed through my mind, dark, violent and wicked. I've done this before. I had tortured and maimed and killed without remorse. Taken revenge on others for less then what I had to endure today. I could do it again.  
  
I could kill him.  
  
I could kill him before he murdered the last bit of humanity that I had left.  
  
The chair came down before my eyes. There was a noise coming from my back, and then a scream. Hands wrapped around my wrists, strong hands that pulled me over and drove me off balance. The chair came down, smashing on the table and sending bits of wood flying through the air. The back of the chair broke off, and left a deep pale dent in the polished surface, barely an inch away from Angelus' head.  
  
"NO!" I screamed, thrashing my legs and arms around like a professional nut when strong arms wrapped around my waist and dragged me away from him. "NO! You've got to let me kill him! He won't let me live! He won't let Liam live!"  
  
"William!" Mike shouted. "Calm down!"  
  
"He's a bloody monster! God! Can't you see that? A monster! A ruthless, murderous monster!"  
  
"He's your brother, Will! Look at him! He's badly hurt! You have to calm down!"  
  
I screamed as I went down. My arms were forced on my back, held sturdily in the hands of the broad orderly. I struggled, fought him with a strength that came from a mad mind, my eyes bulging and white rimmed. Although he had more then a good twenty pounds of muscle weight over my skinny form, my crazy strength tipped the scale and I managed to roll over to one side, slamming Mike against a corner. He hit it with his back, painfully.  
  
"Dammit! Greg! Barry! Someone! I need help! He's losing it!"  
  
Frantic footsteps followed, after which more hands reached out and grabbed me by the shoulders, pushing me down to the ground. My right cheek slammed on the tiled surface, muffling my screams. Someone straddled me from behind and sat on my legs. A knee was pushed in my back and a hand forced my head down. From the corners of my eyes, I could see one of the orderlies stick a syringe with a thin needle into a small bottle of clear liquid and fill it up, and my mind went completely crackers.  
  
"NO!!! Don't stick that thing in me!! No!! Please! I'm telling you, I'm not crazy! I don't wanne get jabbed with that!! Stay away from me!!"  
  
My pleading didn't help of course, why would it? Mike had my arms locked in his sturdy grip and my left sleeve was tucked up. I felt a cold hand on my upper arm before the needle went in. Warmth spread under my skin, numbing warmth that was almost comforting. I wheezed and sobbed, the strength fed by the rage and panic that had soared through me leaking out of every cramped and aching muscle, leaving me weak.  
  
I didn't had the energy left to blink or close my eyes, so I just stared out, exhausted from emotional and physical abuse, Mike and another guy I didn't know by name squatting down bside to keep an eye on me while the others helped out Angelus. He wasn't much hurt, this monster wearing my brother's face, only a superficial cut ran from under his right eye to the hollow of his cheek. He looked as if he had just awakened from a bad dream, brushing off his face with trembling hands, his tan as pale as a sheet of paper. When he saw me there, curled up on the floor like a wounded rodent, his eyes grew wide in disbelief.  
  
By the time he staggered over to me, his shoes dragging over the tiles, my vision had already blacked out and I had drifted off to someplace else.  
  
SCENE 8  
  
I welcomed the darkness that had come to me like a dear old pale. My aching body ached no more. My troubled mind finally found some peace. There was no pain, no distress, no memories. It was only William on standby mode, period.  
  
But of course that happy moment wasn't meant to last.  
  
When I woke up, I smelled something sour, something rancid enough to make me wanne puke my guts out, again that was. I was lying down on a soft surface, but my limps were not restrained as I had expected them to be. I moved them, frantically, struggling against invisible hands, which seemed to be everywhere, grabbing me by my wrists, my ankles, pushing me back on my chest. Unlike Mikester and company, they weren't quite that strong and I easily fought them off, pushing them aside, while yelling out in a loud, hectic voice coming from deep down my throat. Voices came, female and male, screaming and yelling at me, almost sounding as hectic as I did.  
  
"Stop this Spike! You crazy vamp! Stop trashing around!"  
  
"Xander! You've to hold him down, he has to finish this antidote to fully recover!"  
  
"Yeah, as if I can hold him back! Look what he has done to Dawn! Why did that freaking chip of him didn't give his brains a good fry? Is it busted or anything?"  
  
"He didn't mean to hurt her! The chip won't go off when he has no intention to harm anyone."  
  
Although I dreaded it, I opened my eyes to see in what kind of hell I once again had ended up.  
  
Alexander Harris and Willow Rosenberg were hovering around me like angry hornets. Harris had me pinned down by my wrists and sat on my legs, securing me on the bed. Red was balancing a plain mug with the hardly amusing print "An apple a day keeps the doctor away" in front of my face. It was half-filled with a gooey black fluid that smelled like the London sewers after an outbreak of stomach-flu. Red held me by my chin.  
  
Just my luck. I get abused by a gay version of count Drac the Horny and my crazy feeble mind responded with a free trip to this self-created hellhole.  
  
"Get off me!!" I yelled to the imaginary witch and whelp. I knew better then to acknowledge that they were really there. Took me bloody well three months of therapy to get this sorted out and I wasn't gonna make all that hard work go wasted just this easily. "Sod off! I don't wanne have anything to do with you! You're not real!!"  
  
Harris looked at me as if I had just grown an extra head. "Will, what is he rambling about?"  
  
"It's the poison talking. Keep him steady. I'm gonna try again."  
  
Red grabbed my cheeks between her fingers and thumb and forced my mouth open. She brought the mug to my lips and the foul liquid was close enough to send stench waves up my nostrils. I shook my head and whimpered rather pathetically.  
  
"Don't worry Spike. You'll get better as soon as you drink this all up. I'm sorry that it smells so yucky, but I really didn't have to time to add a strawberry flavour to it. Just - try to swallow it up in one good gulp."  
  
She poured it into me, pinching my nose shut so I wouldn't mind the horrible taste too much. It didn't help though, a couple of mouthful of whatever had drowned in that brew and I started retching. I must had done it before, because my black T- shirt was all covered by it, so were the plain white sheets on the bed. Which explained the sour stench that my nose picked up. I gagged some more, my stomach objecting to the idea that I had been lying in my own filth. I struggled free from Harris' grip, and slapped the fancy novelty mug out of the witch's hands. It landed on the sheets and rolled off the bed, spreading a black stain over the cloth and ruining the carpet.  
  
"Spike! You crazy idiot!" Harris snapped. "That's the antidote you've just wasted! Any idea how long it took to get this for you?"  
  
"I don't wanne have your soddin stinkin antidote!" I yelled, rolling my eyes at this very annoying delusion. "You're trying to keep me here, aren't you? You're trying to keep me here so you could all continue to point and laugh at the useless vampire with the government chip in his head. The sad excuse of a demon that hops along with the Slayer like a love sick horny toad."  
  
"Glad you can admit that you're useless and a toad, but we are not doing any of those things. We were trying to save you from demon poisoning."  
  
"You're not real, Harris. And Red here is not real either. This is all in my mind. I'm sick. I need - I need Buffy. She will make me better. She - She always does."  
  
"Buffy is downstairs, taking care of Dawn." Willow said. The witch was trying to mob up whatever was left of the potion with a Kleenex tissue, but was failing miserably since most of it was already soaked into the cloth. "It's probably better for you not to see her right now. She's kinda upset, because - " The witch hesitated for a moment.  
  
"You hurt Dawn, Spike." Harris explained. "You shoved her away when she saw you stirring in your sleep and tried to help. She landed rather badly." He paused for a moment, eying at me with a tinge of anger showing on his face. "You might have broken her wrist with your wicked demony strength here. So yeah, Buff was really upset and might break some bones of yours if you happened to ask for her right now. So I wouldn't advise you to call her."  
  
I blinked my eyes at the two of them, feeling a pang of guilt welt up as the words sunk in. Little Bit. I've hurt Little Bit. The one person in this world that I had sworn to protect with my own life. How could I have done this to her? She had only tried to help me. Probably wanted to wake me up from that horrible nightmare I was having. The institution, Liam and Buffy, they were keeping me there, away from her.  
  
Keeping me grounded in reality.  
  
My mind straightened up, and I sucked in a deep breath of air. Although there was a comfy warm blanket draped around my shoulders, I was horribly cold and suddenly I shivered at the thought of actually being inside this clinically dead body. Spike the vampire was nothing more but a walking - wise creaking corpse.  
  
This wasn't right. This wasn't real. I was losing it again. Fleeing into this imaginary world of mine, the one with all the monsters from which one had escaped and had turned my real life and that of my brother's into a soddin nightmare. I had once believed in all of this, my self- created fantasy where I could hide and pretend to be more then William ever was, but I could no longer afford to keep that up.  
  
I can't keep running back into this place, or it will swallow me whole. Angelus was the perfect example of one of these imaginary playmates gone dangerous. Dawn, whatever compassion I felt for that little girl, she wasn't a real person. I could hurt her, even kill her and no-one would have really died. It was just all in my head.  
  
And I wanted to get it out.  
  
"It's alright Spike." Red tried, being the most adorable little witch my sickly mind had ever created. "Dawn is not angry at you. She knew you didn't do it on purpose. Don't blame yourself."  
  
I looked at her, blankly, trying to allow her words to sink in without letting it affect me on any emotional level. To my own amazement, I succeeded. I didn't feel bad about hurting Little Bit. I didn't really feel anything at all.  
  
Lifting my chin, I stared up at Harris with probably a very mad grin plastered on my face.  
  
"I don't care what happened to her. She isn't a real person anyway. I made her all up, I did."  
  
Harris frowned and looked down at me.  
  
"I - I don't want to be crazy anymore. And I don't want to keep talking to you both. Soon I will wake up and find myself having a crackers conversation with a padded wall." I giggled hoarsely, giddy little insects tickling up and down my throat. "Bloody hell, I have no soddin idea why I torment myself like this. Harris, you must be one of the most aggravating delusions ever made up by a nut to keep himself busy. I must have been bored out of my brains while I was off to keep you wandering around to annoy the hell out of me."  
  
The anger that had been showing previously melted off his face, and for some funny reason, the whelp looked quite concerned.  
  
You're delusional, Spike." He stated, turning towards the witch. "He's delusional. He's as high as a kite. Will, I don't think he got enough of the antidote inside to work off the poison."  
  
"He didn't even finished half of it." Red said, eying at me worryingly. I returned her gaze with another gleeful little giggle and started bopping my head up and down the cushions. "And from the part that we did got into him, isn't much left either." She cleaned some of the black stuff dribbling down my chin. I gave her a huge, wide-eyed grin, and she shivered. "That toxin, it's nibbling away his mind. Look at him. You can hardly call that normal behaviour, even for Spike."  
  
I burst into laughter, loud and hollow, with no real glee to make it sound less scary. I was hurting inside, I was breaking to pieces, but I couldn't tell them what was going on, why I didn't wanne play this little game I've started anymore. What use would it be to explain things to a bunch of made- up people anyway?  
  
Red's facial expression went from concerned to plain terror.  
  
"I have a look in the kettle. See if I can scrape out some last burnt bits from the bottom. Otherwise, it's back to the kashma'nik in the cellar and try to get some more juice out of it to remake the potion. Could take a while though, and I don't think Spike is going to just lie there and wait."  
  
"I kind off expect him to go bunching off the walls as soon as I let go." Harris opted, his voice sounded ridiculously serious, making me all giddy again. "We better strap him down with something till he gets his mind straight."  
  
Red was hesitating; I bet she felt sorry for me. She always did. Even that time when I couldn't bite her after the government soldier boys had me chipped, she felt sorry for me that I was all down about it, just ignore the fact that I had really wanted to eat her. Now, so much sympathy and selflessness coming from one person. That is just surreal.  
  
"Do we have to? It seems kind off cruel. Maybe you can hold him down for a while and - "  
  
"Will! Look at him. Then go down-stairs and take a look at Dawn's arm. You want this potential dangerous vampire go rampant on any of us again?"  
  
"He can't really hurt us, unless he doesn't really mean to." Willow frowned, visibly confused.  
  
"Which is the only fact that keeps me from staking him right now." Harris said, voice dripping of sarcasm. "Look, I can't hold him for much longer, Will. I may look like a handsome young stud in the prime of his life with an impressive amount of muscle built up by hard labour, but I'm still human. Spike is not. If he accidentally wants to snap off my arm to get free with no real intention in doing so, I can do zippo about it but perhaps only scream in great agony. We have to tie him down."  
  
I decided I had enough of the whelp's japing already, and proved his point by launching myself at him. Although my wrists were still pinned down above my head, my arms weren't stretched enough to restrain too much of my movements with my upper body. Harris backed up, fear lightening up in his eyes. Somehow he still managed to keep his grip on my wrists. I buckled my legs and hips, trying to toss him off, but he was a bit overweight and I wasn't really trying too hard. I bounced my hips up and down the bed a couple of times, making it squeak like a whole nest of soddin mice.  
  
"Get something to tie him down!" He yelled. "Get something now!"  
  
I giggled and screamed when Red came back together with Tara, and both witches started to tie me down to the iron-framed bed. They used sets of heavy chains, the type to chain up expensive motorcycles to streetlights, and Tara did something to it, added some kind of binding spell. I felt raw energy soaring though the rattling chains, a tension in the air that wrapped itself around my wrists and ankles. If it had been hard for me to get myself Houdinied out of these restrains before, the addition of her magic made it almost impossible.  
  
That was when I really started to panic.  
  
I had kept myself relatively quite with Harris, but that was because I wasn't expecting them to be able to keep me here for long. I figured I would wake up pretty soon, as long as I refused to drink that crazy juice that Red's offering me, I wouldn't get lost in here. But now, with something as physical and as present as steel and magic holding me down, I wasn't sure about that anymore.  
  
"You can't do this to me!" I pleaded, trying to sound as sane as possible. "You can't keep me here! I don't want to be here. This was supposed to be all in my head. Created by my wonky brains to make me feel all better, but I feel awful." I gazed back at both witches, and I saw pity in their cute but troubled faces. "Please, let me go. I won't trouble anyone. I just wanne go back to my world and see Buffy. I need her. She's the only one who can make me sane again. You can keep this soddin reality that I've made. It's all yours."  
  
Red shook her head and pulled the blankets over my shoulders, tugging me in like I was somekind of wounded fury animal that needed maternal care. Tara looked at me with very sad eyes. Tara was a kind girl and had gone through a lot. I remembered that she had some trouble with her family. They didn't really like her and she had spent most of her life worrying about how wicked she must be to have her own family treat her like that.  
  
I knew how much that must have tormented her.  
  
"Xander, can you please keep an eye on him?" She asked. "It's just that I've never done this spell before. I don't want him to get hurt or anything."  
  
"Right." Harris said, inspecting the restrains. "Got it. One hourly checks on Spike, consider it done."  
  
Tara turned away and left the room with Willow, going down-stairs to the kitchen to scrape out the kettle, leaving me alone with the whelp. I was close to brawling my eyes out, but I swallowed hard to keep the tears from falling, because I just didn't want to give the bloody twat the satisfaction of seeing me cry, ever. He looked at me without saying a word, a strange expression on his face that I couldn't quite place. Then he walked up to the door, ready to leave.  
  
"Spike." He said unexpectedly, and turned around. "I'm sorry. I 'm sorry that I had to do this. But you really shouldn't go back to where ever you were. That place wasn't real." He sighed. "Look, just get better, okay? Things are bad enough already without us having to worry about you."  
  
He switched off the lights. With the heavy brown curtains drawn closed, the room was left in a dim hazy. I stared at the ceiling for a while, listening to the sounds rising up from downstairs, my eyes leaking tears.  
  
  
  
TBC 


	12. ACT 12: Hell wasn't such a bad place aft...

TITLE: "Normal again" (8/8?) part I (Because of length, cut in five parts.)  
  
AUTHOR: Richard Bachman  
  
EMAIL: bachman_rchard@hotmail.com  
  
SITE: nope  
  
FEEDBACK: Give it to me luv, you know you want more of this!  
  
DISTRIBUTION: Do whatever you like poodle. As long as Richard is mentioned I'm fine.  
  
SUMMARY: based on the episode Normal Again. Instead of Buffy, Spike was poisoned by the demon and his consciousness was transported into an alternative reality where he found himself incarcerated in an asylum.  
  
THANK YOU: For your patience. I love to write, but unfortunately, I also have to do other stuff for a living.  
  
ACT 8: Hell wasn't such a bad place after all.  
  
SCENE 1  
  
I must have dozed off for a while, because the bedroom was dark when I opened my eyes again, and the murmurs coming from downstairs had quieted down. I blinked a couple of times, clearing the stickiness out of my eyes. I would have given them a good rubbing if it wasn't for the inconvenient set of chains holding my wrists. I bald my hands into fists and tugged on them. The chains rattled, but didn't give. Gathering more strength, I gave another tug, hard and violent enough to make bits of my skin that got caught between the links cut open. I ignored the pain. After all, I was used to hell of a lot worse, but the fact that I couldn't free myself out of my restrains worried me. If I wasn't trippin already, I would have sworn that they grew tighter every time I tried to break them. And then the notion slipped back into my mind.  
  
Tara had done a spell on them. A binding spell. No wonder they could keep me down.  
  
Whimpering in distress, I rocked back and forth, jerking on the steel restrains relentlessly, ignoring the pressure that built up around my wrists and ankles as I continued to trigger the spell. The bed shook and squeaked under my efforts. Panic was compelling me to do the lesser smart thing. The links started to cut into my flesh, and the pain increased till it was agonizing enough to bring tears into my eyes.  
  
I heard footsteps. Someone came up the hallway and a small strip of light appeared underneath the door.  
  
"Spike? Are you still awake?" A female voice asked. The door swung open and Tara stood in the doorway, her curved frame blocking the harsh light flooding in from down the corridor, but the remaining beams that came in still made me squint. She moved into the darkened bedroom and sought to switch on the lights, but I whimpered softly in protest, while I continued to rock the bed, making it sound as if a horny motel couple were making out in it. Tara gave me worried scowl, then closed the door and drew a chair to sit beside me.  
  
"What's the matter? Are -Are you hurt?" She asked. I noticed that she wasn't quite at ease, sitting here in the dark with a madman re-acting a scene from "The Exorcist" in front of her eyes. Perhaps I should have let her switch on the lights, didn't want to give the easily frightened witch the wiggens. She was nice enough.  
  
"Uhuh." I managed to say, and God help me, there was that scary little giggly thing again, ripping through my throat like an itchy mouse crawling its way out.  
  
The witch gave me a long glance, it was an amusing mix of fear and pity and concern. Her lazy eyelids darted over to my hands, but her sight in the dark was of course very poor with her being human and all. She couldn't see that they were bleeding, and as she reached out and dabbed her slender fingers in sticky blood, she pulled back faster then when she would have when dealing with a snarling dog.  
  
"S-Spike! Y-You a-are b-bleeding." She stuttered, a weakness she only showed when she was very upset and it wouldn't have normally bothered me at all, but at this particular moment, for some idiot reason, it sounded really funny and my soft giggling became a crazy and mean laughter, the kind you hear coming from bullies after they have beaten the crap out of you and have gotten away with your lunch money. I grinned a toothy smile at her, mocking cheer all plastered on my face, while I buckled my pelvis in a very obscene way. Tara looked at me with plain horror in her eyes.  
  
Good work Will, scare the crap out of the cuddly lady warlock, why don't ye? Why don't you go outside and mug a couple of old grannies as well? Toss a baby-buggy on the road while you're on it.  
  
"I-I am s-sorry." She whispered softly. "I s-should have checked the spell before I put it on you. H-here let me help." She reached out her hands and planted them on my wrists. I flinched away from her touch (Yep, that's the kind of bad-ass hardy vampire I was) but there wasn't much vacant space to move as the short chains won't allow me to. Tara closed her eyes and muttered something below her breath, her bosom rising and falling, straining the silk fabric of her emerald green dress. A pentacle dangling around her neck, a polished piece of alabaster crystal, framed in a pentagram made out of silver, suddenly lightened up and illuminated her face in a pale shade of blue. I whimpered, the daft coward that I was, as I felt the power that she had gathered with her spell flow out of her fingertips and damp palms, and into the steel restrains that had wrapped into my flesh like a python mangling its prey. The energy felt warm, clashing with the cold stinging sensation that had been there before the witch had offered me some relief from her magic. There was the sound of links moving over one another, and the agonizing pressure on my wrists declined, ebbing away till there was only a dull throbbing pain left. I swallowed and tried to move my hands and wriggle my fingers. They still worked, which was a relief because I had expected that they had gone black and stale by now. Tara walked over to the end of the bed and did the same to the chains that held my ankles. At the end of her private magic session, I felt a much happier patient.  
  
"I broke the binding spells on the chains." She explained, her long, bailey coloured hair dangling in front of her shy eyes. "They won't hurt you anymore. Try to get some rest without slipping into unconsciousness."  
  
All the crazy giddiness that had roamed inside of me like a jolly merry-go- round had gone away and was replaced by a feeling of utter misery and loneliness. I wished that she would stay and talk to me, so I won't feel so very lost. So I tried to form words with my mouth and tongue for a change rather then to continue my communication with her in one-syllable animal sounds.  
  
"Don't go." I pleaded, my mouth dry and tasting vile, probably from that rancid stuff Red had tried to shove down my throat. "I don't want to be alone."  
  
Tara had been standing up looking down at me, but as my words sank into her, she gave me a sweet reassuring smile and sat back into the chair next to the bed. "You're not alone, Spike. We're here for you. Willow is remaking the serum for the demon poison in your blood as we speak. You'll be all right."  
  
"Not all right." I muttered, and awful feeling sunk into my stomach. "She doesn't know that this isn't real. I'm not supposed to be here."  
  
Tara looked at me with concern and puzzlement written on her face. "Relax Spike. It's not how you think it is. Dawn told us about your um - experiences when you were away, and I know that they must seem very real to you, but they aren't. This -" She made a gesture with her hand. "Is real. And we are real."  
  
"Yeah." I said, my throat constricting as I spoke. "Right. I'm a century old vampire with a government chip in my head, you're a young lesbian wicca, and Buffy is the Slayer of evil nasties. Sounds real realistic. More so even then me being a very severe mental head case drooling my life away in an institution while en-passant spinning you whole lot up out of my badly wired neurons."  
  
"I know it sounds strange." Tara tried. "I wouldn't have believed it myself if I wasn't who I was. But I'm very certain about who I am, Spike. I am a witch. A real one with real powers. And -And I've seen things together with you guys, faced up to monsters and have been through enough to belief in myself. I know you can do that too."  
  
Something sharp and icy stabbed me there in my dead heart. "I don't know who I am any more." I whispered hoarsely. "You don't know how it was, luv. I've been there, back in the real world for three longs months. I was in a place where the people continuously told me that I was sick and that I was delusional, but that they would be there to help me to recover. I didn't like to be locked up like a bloody animal in a fancy white cage, the hell I did. But, God, I was almost normal there! I had a name and I still had family. I was cared for. And- and even though I was wasting away behind the padded walls, I knew it would get better. I knew that there was a chance that I would eventually get out. I had hope that one day, the docs would let me go home and I would walk out of there with the sun on my face." I paused and swallowed, gazing at the witch with hazy eyes. "But here, I don't have such a chance. I don't have any hope. If I stay here, I will be stuck in the darkness forever. Alone."  
  
I looked away from her with once again the sting of tears behind my eyes. A gentle, warm hand wrapped around my own, and gave me a comforting squeeze.  
  
"You're not alone, Spike. You're one of the Scoobies. A friend. After all that we have been through together, we won't let you down."  
  
"A friend?" I asked, fluttering my eyes in disbelief. "Is that what I am to you Scoobs? Funny thing." I snorted. "I thought you all hated my guts. Evil wicked thing without a soul aren't even considered a person in Buffy's or Harris' point of view."  
  
"Oh, no! We don't hate you." She clarified rather hastily. "And-And Buffy certainly doesn't hate you. Xander might sometimes be upset about some weird stuff you say or do, but generally, we do consider you one of us now."  
  
"Speaking of whom, where is she?"  
  
Tara furrowed her brows a little, and said. "You mean Buffy? Um- she is still downstairs with Dawn. And she was helping Willow out to get some more serum out of the demon. She's really trying to help you -"  
  
"Why didn't she come up to see me?"  
  
Tara averted her eyes and even in the dark I could see the colour on her cheeks change. The shy wicca was never much of a liar. "She-She didn't want to -um leave the demon -um unguarded?"  
  
Even in my distress, I managed to get a bit annoyed with her. "Seriously luv, if you're trying to make up an excuse, try not to raise your voice at the end of the sentence, it kinda gives away that you're lying."  
  
"Spike, I didn't want to lie to you. But with Buffy, things are complicated."  
  
"Now that's not much of an newsflash here."  
  
"She didn't want to see you." She puffed out the words in one long sigh, and flinched her gaze away from my eyes so she won't be able to see my heart breaking into pieces. Clever girl.  
  
"Have - have I done something to upset her?" I managed to ask rather moronically naive. My voice trembled while inwardly, I tried to pick up to shards and glue it back together into something that came close to the original to at least provide me with some courage. "Was it Dawn? I-I didn't mean to hurt her. I really didn't."  
  
"Oh no! It isn't that. It's - She doesn't want anybody to know about you and her."  
  
My heart was struck by a soddin earthquake and all the pieces fell apart again even before the glue had time to settle. She didn't want her friends to know about us. That's why she kept herself away from me. She was afraid that I would spill the beans to the Scoobs once I set my crazy eyes on her. My love for her flooding over my lunatic tongue before she could do anything to stop me from jabbering it out to her friends. She didn't want them to be disgusted with her. Perhaps, they won't even be able to forgive her, after all, sleeping with an evil soulless thing had to be one of the most horrific crimes a Do-Goodie Goodie Slayer could indulge into, even when it happened to be that the wicked nasty had real feelings for her and tried to do good.  
  
I eyed at Tara, a tinge of anger rising up from the vastness of misery that threatened to sink my mind. "You already know about us. She told you, didn't she? That's why you're the only one checking out on me, while the others have to stay downstairs."  
  
The witch nodded uncomfortably, a pang of guilt warping her face.  
  
"Oh that's rich!" I blurted out in a loud voice, startling the wicca like a frail deer. "That's just rich! So now what? Did she ask you to perform another spell on me? One to get my tongue stuck to my nose so I won't be able to talk while I'm hallucinating? Why doesn't she just show up herself with a large frying pan and whack me on the head with it? A bit of kiddie comical relief on my behalf wouldn't even break me into a sweat, considering all the crap I've been through the last couple of months."  
  
"Don't be so angry at her. She does care about you. I mean, she went to see me and asked if I could summon the gaskoelkastmaniaks -"  
  
"It's glarghk guhl kashma'nik" I corrected. Bloody hell, even the witches were this badly educated. How were they supposed to fight these things if they didn't even get the pronunciation of their names right? "And you actually got it summoned?" I added sarcastically. "Hell, that's like calling out for your cat unfortunately named SteelRod and not getting a heavy biker bloke with a beard and a "I love mother" tattoo to knock at the door. Seriously, you're lucky, luv. You could have summoned any other, much nastier creature from the Never Never."  
  
"I read its name right out of the books." Tara defended herself. "I know I'm bad with names. I didn't want to make any horrible mistakes. The kind that gets people killed."  
  
We talked somewhat longer, with the wicca trying to persuade me that Buffy wasn't heartless and had done everything to get me fixed up after the demon poisoning. Everything, except for coming to see me and looking me straight into the eyes that was. It made me feel bitter, and it made me realize that she never would accept me for what I was. I was a vampire here, and she was the slayer. It was a relationship doomed to fail miserably, at least if I could dare to call whatever thing we had a real bond, rather then a series of mindless and lustful shagging appointments. They could had made a bloody sitcom out of the concept and I would have watched and laughed about it if it wasn't for the fact that it bloody well was happening to me.  
  
After a long and exhausting talk, Tara left to check on Red again, helping her to stir the cauldron so to speak. She told me for the last time not to worry and not to hold a grudge against the Slayer for not turning up at my sickbed, which I snorted away with some colourful commentary. Joking my way around it as I was used to do. But inside, I felt like hell.  
  
Tara did manage though to put my mind back on the straight path, no more pathetic lunatic acts for William here, although there was still enough distress lingering at the back of my mind to swallow me whole. When the wicca opened the door and stepped out into the hallway, a sickening smell, a stench that you would get when something crawled inside the oven and died there, rose up from the kitchen downstairs and turned my stomach. The second serving of crazy juice, I presumed, was on the menu.  
  
I was left alone in the dark after Tara was gone. Alone with my train of thoughts that had much difficulty to stay rational. I can't let them do this. I can't stay here. I argued, although the bed felt really soft and comfortably warm, and the darkness was kind of comforting too, shielding me from everything that could do me any harm. What difference does it make, the less hardy part of me quarrelled, if you're strapped down to a bed here, in this soddin William-verse where you're so-called "friends" treat you like a loon, or that you're tied down in a bed in the loony-bin?  
  
Either way, you're not really going anywhere anytime soon.  
  
I closed my eyes for a sec, feeling another giggle rising up, but this time, it wasn't madness that drove me to it, rather the realization of the total absurdity of it all. Although the thought of giving up was very tempting, there was a part of me, the sane William part of me I supposed, that didn't quite want to agree with the lazy-me.  
  
I couldn't stay here. There was a difference between this and the other world, which had nothing to do with how much pain or bliss either one of them had to offer. There was something far more important that tipped the scale. A little thing called reality.  
  
I had lost five years of my life already. Five years spent in a world that wasn't real, building up relationships that weren't there, hating people in conflicts that were all just made up. Killing, fighting, scheming. Laughing, loving and crying about nothing, emotions spun out of thin air. Caring about a girl who wasn't who I thought she was, letting her hurt and torment me, while in the reality I had left behind, she had been there all the time, waiting for me to return out of La La land.  
  
I was sick and tired of wasting my life away. I wanted to live again. Really live. I wanted to feel the sun beating down on my face till my nose started to peel, and I wanted to see her smile at me. That enchanting toothy smile that told me that she was glad to see me instead of being repulsed. Back in reality, Dr Buffy Summers was waiting for this poor lost patient, and I was willing to fight my way out of this to get back to her.  
  
The chains rattled as I pulled on them, twisting the links while I was testing for weaknesses. With a hardy tug, the restrains around my left wrist snapped, followed briefly by the ones wrapped around my right wrist. The shackles dropped on the carpet with a heavy clunk, and I checked the damage I had done to myself in my less lucid state; there were pretty imprints in my skin and the parts that had been just underneath the steel links were red and raw, with a couple of scratched drawing a bit of blood, but the wounds were already starting to close.  
  
I guessed that there were also upsides in being a vampire.  
  
The shackles around my ankles were even easier to break, since I had much more strength in my legs then in my arms. Getting up proved to be a bigger challenge. One step out of the bed and everything in the soddin room started to sway. I grabbed a bedpost and tried to steady myself before I tripped and caused enough racket to get the Scoobs scuttling up the stairs to check things out. My legs felt as if they were made out of rubber, and although I didn't though it was possible for a vampire to run a fever, I felt flushed.  
  
It must be the poison, I reasoned for as far my swirling brains allowed me to. It's triggering some kind of immune reaction in my body. Must be wickedy strong to even be able to get a dead one like mine up and running this determinedly.  
  
Or, a small voice in the back of my head explained, this could be a crystal clear clue given to you from who ever is up there and running this puppet show that you're really trippin on your own sick brain juices here. Seriously, a dead person suffering from flu, could it even be more ridiculous?  
  
I shook my head feverishly (punning unintended here) to get rid of all the inner voices driving me crackers, and headed for the vanity in the corner of the room (This was Joyce's bedroom, I recalled. I saw pictures of little Buffy with happy mom and happy dad smiling in the camera.) and snatched my trench coat off the surface, dragging a variety of tiny knickknacks down with it as though I had tried to perform a very clumsy magic trick.  
  
Thank God for sound isolating carpets.  
  
I stooped down to pick them up, containers with day - night and afternoon crèmes, a handful of lipsticks in rainbow colours and a couple of mouldy combs. I didn't want to leave Joyce's bedroom in a bloody mess. Buffy would be upset. But the minute my head bobbed down, a massive headache, solid and hard as a brick wall, hit me and my temples started pounding in a nauseating rhythm. I took a deep unnecessary breath and flung my head over my shoulders.  
  
This was going to be hard.  
  
I cleaned up as much as I could without having to steam clean the carpet from my stomach juices. There was a bottle of blood red nail polish that had lost most of it contents on the wax-polished tabletop, but I had it tidied up with a Kleenex tissue and a bit of spit (Don't look so disgusted, you know I have done worse). It left a bit of a pink haze there, but I figured you wouldn't see it that much against the dark oak. Hell, even I had trouble finding the stain, let alone Buffy with her humanly impaired googly eyes. I was sure she wouldn't notice a thing.  
  
Still, I shoved her mom's photo over the spot, just in case the sun tend to highlight the furniture in an odd angle, you never know.  
  
I headed for the window, opened it and climbed out of the room and onto the roof. I knew a tree just outside of Buffy's room that was tall enough for me to reach from up here. I also happened to know that it was just sturdy enough to support my skinny vampire ass. Not that I'm some sort of pathological stalker of course. Hell no. Just happened to be very familiar with the Summers family resident. Besides, Angel was worse.  
  
I came by Buffy's bedroom-window as I scuttled over the roof, and noticed that the curtains were drawn and a light was burning inside. Stooping over and crawling on my hands and knees, I managed to pass her window unnoticed without plummeting off the roof and breaking my neck. I reached out and grabbed an old branch, twisted and ravaged by too frequent use. I wrapped my hands around it, pushed myself off using the drainpipe and flung my legs over to the base of the thick branch, swinging them over it. I had almost managed to get myself into a comfy sitting position when I heard voices coming from the Slayer's bedroom.  
  
"It isn't fair!" A door slammed shut and I didn't even have to hear more to know that it was Dawn. "Why can't I go to mom's room to see him? You know he didn't mean to hurt me. Otherwise the chip would have gone off."  
  
"Dawn! Spike can be dangerous right now. I don't care how much you think of him as a cuddly demon-friend, but he is and stays a vampire! You heard Willow. We don't know what that poison is doing with his mind. What if he snaps and the chip cannot stop him any longer? Do I have to offer my little sister to him to see if he recognizes you and starts sobbing for forgiveness? It doesn't work that way with demons."  
  
I closed my eyes and breathed out an annoyed sigh as I overheard her lecturing on Little Bit. Great, cruel words coming from the mouth of the Bitchy Slayer, another world of hurt had just opened up to me.  
  
"How can you say such things about Spike? He saved you from that kuleriak demon! If it wasn't for him, it would have been you lying there!"  
  
"It's glarghk guhl kashma'nik Bit." I whispered below my breath, agitated. Bloody hell. Could at least one of them get it right for a change?  
  
"I didn't ask him to get in the way." Buffy said, rather coldheartedly. "I could have killed that thing and strolled back home before midnight. But oh no, the big Bad had to show up and play the chivalry knight again. Demons of the world beware, it's Spike in a trench coat. It would have been cool if it wasn't for the fact that he was so incredibly clumsy in saving the lady in distress and ended up needing to be saved himself."  
  
Ough, that was really below the belt. Although I knew she sometimes didn't much appreciate my help, I had thought that at least most of the times I had done some good for her. But now, she was saying that I was more of a burden to her then anything else! I clenched my hands around the tree trunk, splitting bark as I drove my fingers into it. My ears picked up a grinding noise and I realized that it was me, grating my teeth.  
  
"I can't believe that you're saying this." Dawn uttered, her voice shaky. "That is just mean. You wouldn't react like this if it was Willow or Xander who got hurt. Or me."  
  
"That's because Spike is a demon." She said, as if that notion alone could explain everything. "Believe me Dawn, he can take care of himself. He has a whole century of practice to pass the test. As soon as we give him the antidote, he will be better in no time. Meanwhile, don't get near him!"  
  
I had heard enough. Crazy hallucinated crush on an imaginary girl or not, her words still made me angry. And it bloody hurt. I tightened my jaw, and started climbing down the soddin tree, making as little fuss as possible, not to draw attention from the Scoobs inside. I jumped down the last few feet and landed with my boots on the lawn, swaying a little on my feet as the headache rewarded my efforts with a pang of nausea.  
  
Buffy's bedroom faced the back garden, once a luscious place of greenery with all sorts of fancy flowers and scrubs, now a severely overgrown wilderness with grass that reached up to knees and an a collection of exotic looking weed flourishing in the patches where once the rosebushes had grown. Buffy wasn't much of a gardener, and ever since Joyce died, no- one had the time nor the patience to keep it from turning into a rainforest. I wouldn't be surprised to trip over a Bengal tiger in here. The lawn was sure thick enough to hide one.  
  
I gazed back into the house. There was a porch made out of white woodwork that led into the kitchen, since the entire ground floor of Buffy's house was raised a few feet above the ground. The large, murky windows (They really needed a good cleaning. Buffy was sloppy again.) provided a view inside, and I saw both witches standing in front of the kitchen counter; Tara looking into a spell book and muttering something inaudible while Red was crushing a bunch of unidentifiable objects in a bowl using a stone pestle. Somewhere at the back, a pot was boiling over with some black bubbly stuff, probably the antidote in making. It hissed clouds of steam once it dripped on the hot cooker.  
  
I turned my back on all that, and waded down the lawn. Tall grass brushed my legs and dew collected on my boots as I fled out of the garden, determined to leave the Scoobs and the Slayer for what they were and find my way out of this soddin hallucination.  
  
  
  
TBC 


	13. ACT 13: No more mindgames, no more mind

TITLE: "Normal again" (8/8?) part II (Because of length, cut in five parts.)  
  
AUTHOR: Richard Bachman  
  
EMAIL: bachman_rchard@hotmail.com  
  
SITE: nope  
  
FEEDBACK: Give it to me luv, you know you want more of this.  
  
DISTRIBUTION: Do whatever you like poodle. As long as Richard is mentioned I'm fine.  
  
SUMMARY: based on the episode Normal Again. Instead of Buffy, Spike was poisoned by the demon and his consciousness was transported into an alternative reality where he found himself incarcerated in an asylum.  
  
THANK YOU: For your patience, your support and your comments on the story. (Dear Shadowschild, the last part of this chapter with Buffy finally brawling her eyes out in regret is written for you. Thanks for your enlightening words.) And thank you, Olga, for beta reading as much of it as you could. I hope you get that computer virus sorted out because I do miss corresponding with you.  
  
ACT 8: No more mind-games. No more mind.  
  
SCENE 2  
  
"Look Dawn, this isn't a discussion!" Buffy shouted. "You're staying away from him till he's no longer crazy. Or less crazy." She hesitated. "And I want you to go to bed now. It's four in the morning on a Wednesday, you have classes tomorrow!"  
  
She stood there in her bedroom facing an angry Dawn, her arms folded across her chest, dark half moon rims under her eyes. God, she thought, it's really four o'clock in the morning already. She had a shift at the Double Meat starting at eight, Dawn had to get up at seven and get a decent breakfast before she went off to school, the laundry needed to be done, and the windows would certainly benefit from a good cleaning. Buffy let go of a deep, tired sigh and wished she could catch up with a couple hours of sleep before the entire night was over and the glamorous tasks of keeping the Summers household running would be pressuring on her shoulders once again when the morning came, but there was no such luck of course.  
  
"Why are you always yelling at me like that!" Dawn lamented. "I'm a teenager! I'm not a kid anymore!" She swallowed hard before getting out the heavy artillery. "You can't boss me around like you're mom or anything! Mom was always there for me and she listened to me. You never listen and you're never here when I need you!"  
  
Before Buffy could say anything to counter her little sister's emotional nuclear bombing, Dawn fled out of the room, crying as she went, slamming the door shut with so much anger that it made the porcelain ballerina that Buffy got for her eight birthday, tipple off the book shelf. Buffy caught the small ornament, Slayer speed kicking in on reflex, and she put it back on its place, her mind distracted.  
  
Things had been hard for her ever since she came back from the dead. Her mother wasn't there anymore for her to turn to when things got out of hand and the troubles in her life had sometimes become too much for her to bear; not so much the vampires and the monsters had created most of her problems, but everyday stuff like paying the electricity bills, getting the leak in the roof fixed before winter and making sure to put out the garbage on Thursday mornings before she had to stock up the trash and smell it rot for the rest of the week. Buffy knew that it was puny, but she couldn't help but feel sorry for herself right now. Dawn had her incredibly unreasonable big sister to go to when she needed someone to yell at, but to whom could the big sister go with all of her truckloads of cropped up frustrations?  
  
Buffy let out an irritated groan and sat down on her bed, her hands entangled in her locks as she brushed them away from her forehead. Why was everyone expecting her to be strong enough to face up against everything what this world had to throw at her? Sure, she was the Slayer, and if trouble came in the shape of an evil demon nasty, she knew how to do her slaying duties rather well, but when it came to dealing with things like keeping up a mindless job in order to pay the bills, bringing up a difficult teenage sister and dealing with the troubles of her friends like magic addictions and relationships in ruins, she was pretty sure that she wasn't made to be able to absorb and counteract all of this misery of grownup life. If this was what she had to look out to for the next couple of forty, fifty years, she would rather go down fighting against an army of nightmare creatures. Trying to get the second mortgage on the house paid off must be worse.  
  
She had just burrowed her face in the comforting darkness of her hands when a persistent knock on her bedroom door startled her.  
  
"Buffy?" Xander asked, hesitatingly.  
  
"Come on in. It's not locked."  
  
The door swung open and Xander walked in, his expression grim.  
  
"Buff, Spike went missing. Tara found out he isn't in your mom's bedroom anymore."  
  
"Oh." She shook her head as if she wasn't sure that she had heard this right. "But - How - I thought Tara -"  
  
"She lifted the spell on his restrains. I guess afterwards, the chains were as effective as bundles of lose lint in keeping him strapped down. She was quite upset about it after she found out he was gone, but it was of course none of her fault. It would have surprised me if Spike didn't try to trick her to scheme his way out."  
  
There was this feeling of a rusty anvil sinking into her stomach as the message came clear to her. He - He walked out? In that state of mind? By his own? What did he want to do, get himself dusted!? Buffy's tired mind spun vivid pictures of a whole range of possibilities how Spike could get himself killed while he was halfway off to LaLa land. She had been there the first few minutes after he woke up; he was trashing around with his arms and legs trembling like an epileptic patient, screaming his lungs out. A little demonstration of any of that, and all the friendly demons in the neighbourhood would know that the blond vampire who had been a very effective ally to the Slayer had lost it completely and he would become an easy target.  
  
"We have to find him." She gazed up at her friend, a determined look in her eyes and a tinge of anxiety in her voice as she spoke. "He's too weak to defend himself right now. If he walks into some old demony pals of his holding a grudge, he'll be dust before you can even say the word - vendetta -."  
  
Xander nodded. "He took his duster with him. I guess that means he still had some bits of his brain functioning and isn't completely gone into the alternative reality thing yet. We have the best chance in finding him when we go look in the cemetery and his crypt."  
  
"Good suggestion." Buffy opted. She suddenly didn't feel that sleepy anymore, her heart was pounding and a wave of panic was compelling her to do something about the grim situation, make her react fast and effectively. "You guys didn't tell Dawn about this?"  
  
"Definitely not. She doesn't know. After that quite and peaceful conversation that you two had, she went to her room and locked herself in."  
  
"Well, at least she did what I asked her to do." Buffy sighed. She got up from her bed and started heading for the door. Xander followed her in hasty steps. "Don't tell her. I don't want her trying to sneak out of the house to go look for him. How far is Will with the potion?"  
  
"She told me it was almost done. She already got to the eyeballs of rat grinding part of the recipe. After that it's just a couple of hours more of simmering."  
  
"Good. So the antidote is almost ready, all we need now is the patient." She remarked in a dry matter-of-fact voice. And, she thought, as soon as we find him, I'm gonna personally make sure that mister Big Bad isn't leaving us before he has at least a king-sized serving of anti-crazy juice poured down his gullet. Whatever guilt she suffered for getting him injured on her behalf, it wasn't enough to diminish her feeling of utter anxiety after having observed him in his delusional state. A lot of things suited the attractive blond vampire rather well, but bed-humping crazy was definitely not one of them. Right now, the priority was to get Spike back to normal again, even if it meant she had to club him unconscious and drag him home by his bleached hair. Lighter matters like guilt could be dealt later on, when she was half dozing off above the cash register at work for example.  
  
  
  
SCENE 3  
  
I had a plan. Well at least, it sounded like one. Didn't know if it was gonna be any good, but one had to try.  
  
The moon shone like a sickly pale piece of goat-cheese in the sky as I strolled through Sunny D's West cemetery. The Hellmouth had made any business that had anything to do with getting rid of dead relatives as lucrative as selling central heating to nudists in Alaska, and although the relatively small town had only a population of 10450 inhabitants (hell Gods, pixies, and demons like yours truly here not included), it had two large and four smaller graveyards, all of them expanding on rapid pace. If my loopy mind was not playing tricks on me, it was here on the West Cemetery where I had my dig. It was a large crypt owned by some uptight blue-veined aristocratic family, all smooth marble and fancy pillars, that I had fixed up rather nicely, nicking bits and pieces from the Slayer and her friends. Things they didn't really need of course. I wouldn't get my hands on any of Buffy's furniture now that she had to work herself numb to afford any, but I had to admit that Harris old radio, standing-lamp, refrigerator, coffee-table and comfy chair were all rather handy. So were Red's carpet, coffeemaker, dog-eared paperbacks (She might be clever, but her appetite for badly written ten dollar crime pockets were as huge as mine), fluffy cushions and colourful tapestries. Oh, and I borrowed stuff from the Magic Shop as well, boxes of candles to lit up the place to create a nice cosy atmosphere, hexenweed, orgebush and crinkleroot, to make my next meal of château du piggy a bit more interesting. Hell, I even drink my meals from the Watcher's fancy novelty mug with the clever "Kiss the Librarian" pun.  
  
Hey, what did you expect then? Of course I'm a thief. I'm evil.  
  
I sniggered, giddy as I was. Yep. Evil. That's me. The Big Evil Dead, coming out to get you while you're sleeping in your comfy bed. Looming behind the curtains when you're careless enough to leave the windows open, with a tongue thirsting for fresh blood, baring fangs with the view of the veins pulsing underneath your tight skin. And then of course the terrible scream of agony cutting through the silence when the soddin chip kicks in and turns the Big bad into the Big Sad.  
  
My cheery mood disappeared like a steamy box of pepperoni pizza in the hands of the Scoobs.  
  
Who was I kiddin?  
  
I'm beyond pathetic.  
  
I shook my head, and with the surging sickness, the confusing thoughts of vampiredom spilled from my mind like overripe peaches from a tree. Mustn't think of being Spike or anything related to Spike. Must focus on getting back to Buffy. The real Buffy. The one with the soft and caring nature instead of the bitchy sadist that was currently carving lash marks on this whipping boy's back. Lifting my head, I looked around and orientated my way on specific landmarks that made wandering around in a cemetery at night a bit easier. I had already passed the Hilton tomb and the Applebee's family grave, the one with the funny little gargoyles, and I just had to turn another left when I reached the six feet high statue of Gabriel before I was back at my crib. From there, I figured, I could access the sewers and keep myself in hiding from the Scoobs till Dr Buffy found a way to wake me up again, perhaps take a couple bottles of Bourbon with me to pass the time. I couldn't do anything to make the transition back into the real world happen pronto presto, but at least I could stay away from all the hallucinated wankers who tried to keep me here.  
  
I was already close enough to see the raised sword of the archangel cast a shadow over the graves when a sudden cold stung my body that made me suck in my cheeks, inhale deep and let out quivering breathes. A pale mist rolled by, a vortex of frail patches of light and darkness, settling down into vague shapes. I shivered as an image emerged, the translucent fog revealing a ghostly world before my eyes.  
  
There were chains, again, but this time I was hanging from them, my naked form suspended from rusty steel cuffs that cut into my wrists. I was somewhere dark and cold, and the smell of damp hay and animal manure filled my nostrils. I was too dizzy to keep my head upright, so I just let it sag to one side, trying to let it rest on my chest. As I did, a gush of blood spilled out of a crusted wound on the other side of my neck. The tepid fluid, stolen from the living, but still bearing the unfading scent of my creator, glided down my battered body and fell into a half filled pail set out underneath me. The steady drip rippled the dark surface as it touched.  
  
Angelus came to me, his eyes fixed in that trademark gloom that might be as eternal as his soddin existence, but there was that spark of malicious enjoyment in them that made me well aware of the less dangerous mood he was in. Still, I was chained like a dog and pretty much in agony, so there wasn't much to celebrate. He was dressed very properly; dark blue velvet trousers, and an immaculate white shirt, except for the tiny blood splatters that kinda spoiled the whole fancy theme. Silver cuff-rings held up his sleeves and his well-groomed hair was kept in a ponytail. You could have wrapped a merry bow around the bloody poofter and given him away to Buffy for Christmas, and Joyce wouldn't even have minded to let her daughter keep him. He looked like the perfect son in law, a real gent.  
  
"William." He whispered with his fingers wrapped tightly around my chin. "Tell me that ye want it and I let ye out of here. Let ye see Dru again." He let go of me and stalked around, drawing small circles, a cat toying with his wounded prey. "Let ye hunt again. Feed again. Why, I would even be generous and allow ye to sleep in a proper bed instead of on the dirty floor in the stables. What do ye think, Will? Is this enough for ye?"  
  
I let go of a ragged moan as a sudden flash of pain cut through my right side; a savage burning that left a trail of agony through my lower innards. My head sank down and I saw that there was a long, rusty metal pin sticking out of my body, impaling me from my back to the front, and I cringed as Angelus twisted the end around. Blood oozed out of the fresh gash, turning the drip into a gushing stream that filling up the pail at my feet pretty fast.  
  
I didn't understand why I didn't scream. I wanted to. The pain was unbearable, maddening. But as I opened my mouth and strained my lungs, nothing came out except for some sort of bizarre primitive roar. The sound of a wounded animal, not of a tormented man. I tried to swallow and noticed that I didn't have a tongue to aid me doing so. Nothing was left of it but a fleshy stump, raw and thick, unable to bear words.  
  
I dropped on my hands and knees, damp grass between my fingers that I grabbed onto in desperation. This wasn't real. I wasn't there. I was at the cemetery, trying to find my way back to reality. I was not in some dark and dank horse-stable back in a nancyboy dress-code era, getting tortured by that nightmare monster. It was a delusion. A delusion inside of another delusion. Yeah, that must be it! Dr Giles did once explain to me that my illness was multi-layered.  
  
"Will, look at me lad."  
  
"No, please leave me alone." I muttered. But I did what he demanded, quit gazing down at the lawn, raised my head and stared at him, blinking blood and sweat out of my eyes as I did.  
  
His lips curled into a cruel smile. "Now is yer chance. Let me know that this is enough. I know ye can't really speak to me right now and that you're angry for what I've done to ye. But let me assure ye lad, everything is going to be fine. Trust me. Considering I let ye live that long to let it grow back that is."  
  
I whimpered as he grabbed me by my hair and yanked my head to one side, exposing the horrible wound on my neck. He stuck two fingers in the gash, burrowing them into my torn flesh and I roared again as they dug deep into the damaged tissue, his fingers wriggling like two flesh-eating maggots.  
  
I grabbed my neck and covered the wound with a shaking hand, expecting to find his fingers creepy-crawling inside of me but clutching nothing but my own undamaged skin. A red haze came over my vision, and the whole cemetery became obscured by a veil of blood. Shapes of tombstones that had been standing right in front of me in neat rows of four started to blur, while the nightmare visions of my torment increased alarmingly in intensity.  
  
"Painful. Isn't it?" Angelus cheered. "Do ye want me to stop this, William? End all this pain and suffering that I bestow on ye? Tell me so, and I'll stop. Tell me what I need to hear."  
  
I didn't have to ponder about it. There wasn't enough mind left in me to fill a doggy bag, let alone argue with him, so I gave in.  
  
"Please stop this! It's enough! It hurts! It hurts! I'll do whatever you ask!"  
  
But there wasn't a single understandable word coming from me as I lamented. Only a string of animalistic sounds that couldn't be deciphered even with the best of intentions, and Angelus wasn't exactly trying very hard to listen. His smile widened as he heard my painstaking efforts to plead for my life, his teeth showing.  
  
"Do ye expect me to understand anything out of that mad barking of yers?" He hissed and somewhere beneath the muscles of my neck, his talons cut through my flesh and ripped me open from the inside out as easy as a set of kitchen knives going through soft butter. I gagged. Blood welled up from somewhere down my throat, a rupture of arteries that were supposed to supply blood to my brains but were now heaved up by me and dripped in lazy spills down my chin.  
  
It dripped on the lean leaves of grass below be. Dazed, I raised a hand to catch a drop and toughed my nose to find a sticky string hanging on to it like a funny coloured booger. I snorted, clearing my nose. My mouth filled with the coppery taste of blood.  
  
Oh hell. This was bloody insane.  
  
I swabbed off the muck with the sleeve of my coat, hands trembling feverishly. I had to stay focussed. Keep myself grounded in this "reality" while my nightmares ragged and slammed against the confines of my sanity, trying to tear down the brittle barrier and get their hands on me. If I didn't succeed in even staying here, I was as good as dead. Angelus would kill me in that other, even lesser pleasant reality. He was already bleeding me dry for fun, wouldn't take much more for him to put a sharp wooden object through my heart while he was still on the whole torturing thing. Definitely, not eager to go there.  
  
I tried to struggle back up, concentrating my vision on the cemetery surroundings, rather then the dark stable where I was almost tortured to death. It shadowed through into this reality like a thick red veil, as if two separated semi-translucent worlds were put on top of one another. I had difficulty using my hands and legs, for a part of me had already started to believe that they were restrained in metal cuffs and chains. I managed to get moderately back on my feet with only my right hand still supporting my trembling frame, when a scaly, red knuckled fist wearing big ugly rings, collided with my chin and sent me reeling over the soggy cemetery grounds.  
  
Struggling up from the muddy earth, I flashed my eyes as I became aware that I was no longer alone in the graveyard. Five or six figures stood in front of me, dressed in black t-shirts with heavy metal prints and leather biker pants. Their faces were warped, inhuman, with bony structures growing out of anatomically incorrect places. Their skins a cooked lobster red.  
  
With difficulty, I closed my mouth again and tightened my jaw, while being slightly aware of the sharp pain shooting up to my brains when I grated my teeth.  
  
This was so very wrong in so many ways.  
  
"Spike!" The unpleasantly familiar Inferno demon yelled. "Didn't expect you back anytime soon. The word got out that you finally got wasted."  
  
"Steward." I muttered, than shook my head in absolute denial. "What - What are you doing here?"  
  
"So you can still recognise me then!?" He moved toward me, his demon mates following a few steps behind, popping knuckles in cheer anticipation as they came closer. Something odd happened to Steward's face; there were large patches of black scar tissue spreading all over his skin, he was missing half an eyebrow and his right eye looked rather funny, too glossy and too dead to be real.  
  
And then the notion hit me. "That bleeding I had, you've done that! You've whacked me in the face and - and have given me that nosebleed!" Hell, I thought I was going completely crackers here, but it was just something that was linked to this world that had done the damage and caused me to bleed. It wasn't Angelus. It wasn't him. I giggled, happily relieved. The bloody poofter didn't got me yet. I survived and was still standing, figurative speaking.  
  
The Inferno demon gazed down at me with his one good eye, perhaps a bit confused about my unanticipated reaction, pupil narrowing to a narrow slit. "And what if I did? Do you think I still care about the demon rules of conduct when dealing with scum like you? After all that crap you've done to my face!? After you burnt out my fucking eye!? You treacherous bloodsucking weasel!"  
  
I furrowed my brows in confusion. For all I could remember, I had been a very good boy for the last couple of months, considering the countless times I had ignored my cravings to do exactly what he accused me to have done to his bloody ugly mug. Still, the circumstances didn't look that good with Steward out on retaliation while I was trippin like a Flowerperson on communal tree-hugging and whale-saving classes. Better stay polite and try to explain to the wanker that he wasn't suppose to be here and that he should sod off, or else I'll let Buffy take in his turn for the remote. See if the bloody git could still zap that fast after I pick all the buttons out of the soddin telly.  
  
"I - I haven't done anything - "  
  
Before I could finish my incoherent jabbering, my vision shifted back to the other world, where Angelus approached me with a branding iron that he had taken off the fire just seconds before. The hot steel burst from orange- red into bright radiant white as he puffed on it, and the glow illuminated his features demonically. Weak and useless, withering in agony with no other thought occupying my mind but to escape the very pain that was ripping me apart, I watched how the brand was forced against the wound in my neck and, with a sick sizzling sound, burnt it close.  
  
The Inferno demon's fist came down hard and fast with the momentum of the impact knocking me over. Both worlds blurred in front of my eyes, dancing around and all over each other as though I was looking through a crazy kaleidoscope. I gasped out of pain when a steel-capped boot hit me in the stomach, and suddenly, I was surrounded by a forest of leather clad legs and army boots, angry red lizard faces hovering above me, with Steward's ruined mug gawking down at me like some sort of craterous moon.  
  
"Anything to say before I let the boys have your face exactly redone like mine, blood-leech!?" He smashed his foot over my right hand. I heard my finger-bones snap like dry twigs under his weight and I had to bite on my tongue to prevent myself from screaming.  
  
Only I had no tongue to bite on any more, of course.  
  
A sad whimpering sound, like that of a dying animal, gurgled up my throat, together with sticky bits of coagulated blood that obstructed my throat. I gagged and retched it out. Angelus' eyes were close to mine, studying me. The sickly sweet scent of burnt flesh lingered in the cold air, while the searing agony caused by the hot iron on my neck still spread through my body like decay on a corpse.  
  
"Tell me what I want to hear, Will. Tell me and I'll help ye out. Let all that terrible pain go away."  
  
My mind raced, I didn't got a soddin clue what he wanted from me. Or maybe it had elapsed me, and I had known it once. I cursed myself for being this slow, for being this daft. The end to all of my torment was only one or two words away and I had forgotten them. I would never get out of here alive. Angelus was going to turn me into ashes and use my remains to fertilize his precious rosebushes, and Dru would think that I had given up on her, that I had fled from the satanic Aurelius family like a complete sissy.  
  
"See it as a bit of justice that has to be done." Steward was there again, squatting on his heels beside me, fiddling his silver rings with his disgusting scaly fingers. "Face it Spike, for all the bullshit you've pulled on your own kind, working together with the Slayer against us and all, you're lucky that we are only going to kill you once."  
  
Somewhere from the corner of my vision, I saw a lead pipe come down on me. I buckled as it exploded on my spine. A second blow landed on the back of my neck and I tried to curl up into a tight ball to protect myself, pain blocking out any other emotion but deadening fear. One of Stewards lizard boys pulled out a Swish army knife and stabbed me in my arm, just as I tried to raise it above my head to shield myself from their kicks and blows. I started to scream and sob and finally gag in my own blood in pathetic agony, while fists and boots and whatever more the monstrous gang had to throw at me, beat down on my wretched body.  
  
"Ye don't want any of this, lad. And it is not necessary. Just give in, for once. Tell me what I want to hear. Save yerself from all this suffering."  
  
Angelus let go of me, and my abused body sagged down like a boneless bag of skin till it was withheld from plummeting to the ground by rattling chains. I was shaking, cold, and dying. The monster, he had drained me dry, not a drop of blood was left in me to keep me warm, to keep me going. I was no more but an empty vessel with the weakened demon inside, going crackers out of hunger for substance.  
  
He had spilled all of my blood. Life bearing fluid. Given to me by my Sire. My beautiful Dru.  
  
He had done this with a purpose.  
  
He wanted to control me.  
  
And then I finally realized what he asked of me.  
  
The stab-wound in my arm throbbed and spread out a warm numbing sensation. I blinked as bright flashes of light appeared and immediately disappeared again, elusive and powerful like lightening. I could hear voices coming at me from far; sounding hollow, unclear, but also comforting familiar.  
  
"Spike!"  
  
Startled, listening to her yelling out my name, I noticed how the angry woods of legs parted. The assaults on my battered body ceased. I was only slightly aware of the panic that had struck the group of demonic fiends, when a couple of them were sent reeling over the ground, both set afire by blazing bolts.  
  
"Slayer!" Hissed the Inferno demon, nostrils breathing out rings of black smoke.  
  
"Buffy!" I shouted, or for as far my damaged lungs allowed me to. "Duck!"  
  
He sucked in a deep breath of air, spread his mouth wide and a flame shot out the size you expect coming out of a flamethrower.  
  
I couldn't see her, lying there pathetically in bits and pieces on the ground, dark shadows of demons obscuring me from what was happing behind them. I could only hope that she could handle the Inferno demons on her own. Steward and company were nothing fancy but six pyromaniacs against one Slayer still seemed a bit unfair.  
  
"Buff, watch your back! He's trying again!"  
  
The dark night's sky lit up like a soddin Christmas tree and I heard Harris roar a couple of Kamikaze yells before charging at the demons. It was followed by much grunting and groaning from the demon party. Guess the glorified bricklayer was having a good night.  
  
"William."  
  
I blinked as blood dripped in my eyes and started to also paint this reality red. There was her voice again. Buffy's voice.  
  
"William, can you hear me? Please, wake up!"  
  
No, not her voice .Not this Buffy. The real Buffy. The one with the PHD in psychology and the pleasant smile. The one who smelled like summer- strawberries. The Buffy who cared about me and was able to love me in all of my sad and pitiable glory.  
  
Crawling on my elbows, I wriggled away from the demons who had turned their backs on me, straining every muscle in my body that wasn't bruised yet, however painful. I didn't see anything that could give me a soddin clue to where I should go. No guiding light, mystical portal or tear in the fabric of reality thing with a flickering sign reading "This way, you stupid git!" to help me out. But I could drag myself towards where her voice came from. Bring myself closer to her presence. Even if I didn't succeed in going back, I rather died within perhaps an arms length out of her reach with her warm and lovely voice ringing in my ears then to perish alone without even such consolation.  
  
The dimensions shifted again, tombstones and diamond night sky disappearing into the background, while the freezing cold came back to me, and a sense of longing rose in my body so intense that the horrific injuries it sustained were just nothing compared to it. It was a craving, a hunger so deep and violent that it could drive a demon mad, or madder.  
  
Angelus raised his left wrist to his mouth, and broke his skin with his fangs. With thirsting eyes, I saw how shiny droplets of crimson appeared at the surface. Wonderful, warm substance, the pleasant coppery smell of it lured my stomach into loud grumbling. My Grand Sire smiled at me, wicked and shrewd, then he ripped his flesh open, tearing a gaping wound the size of a sterling, out of which his blood ran freely. It trickled down his arm, spreading out like thin red branches over his pale skin.  
  
I shivered pitiably. Eyes white rimmed and fixed on all that blood that spilled so wastefully on the floor. My own cold body yearning for it, begging for it, to have that wonderful taste fill my mouth and the warmth it carried inside of me, driving out the horrible cold.  
  
"Ye're becoming one of mine, Will. Not a drop of yer Sire's blood is left in yer pitiable form. I've ended yer old existence and I shall give ye a new. A fresh start, so to speak, and all that ye have wronged me in the past shall be forgiven."  
  
He lifted his bleeding wrist to up to my lips. I let out a ragged sigh of anticipation, and then sank my fangs into the wound, closing my crusted lips eagerly around it.  
  
"This blood is life. A gift from this Sire to his Childe. An everlasting bond. Ye're mine now, Childe. Mine for eternity."  
  
I swallowed the warm liquid. Letting it roll over the raw painful stump and let it glide down, fill up the hungry emptiness. I pushed back all the poisonous memories of the last couple of months, of all the humiliation, all the torture that this wicked man had let me gone through. This Monster that had tricked me in becoming his Childe. I closed my eyes and fixed my thoughts on my survival, on feeding solely, but my heart revolted with every sip I took from this malevolent creature.  
  
I no longer belonged to my beloved Dru. Her privilege had vanished with the last beads of her blood leaving my body. Angelus had claimed me now. He had become my one and only true Sire, and as long as his blood flowed through my veins, he would possess me for eternity.  
  
I collapsed on the lawn, my face buried in the muddy grounds, my fingers digging in my eyes till the pain it caused was visible in patches of rainbow colours. I didn't want to see all of this! Angelus, Slayer, and Harris. They all belonged here! What I had seen and had discarded, as a descent of my mind into another level of crazy Psycho Land was no other then a fragment of my past. Spike's past. A terrifying memory that should have been forgotten long ago if life was that merciful. In this reality, Angelus was real. He had existed here, and still did, lurking in dark recollections, eager to come out as soon as I was left alone.  
  
I could hear myself scream, loud and shrill, madness resounding in my voice, while I rubbed my face in the mud, trying to burrow myself into the ground, perhaps even begging it to swallow me whole.  
  
"Will! Please snap out of this!"  
  
"Spike! What the hell are you doing?"  
  
I clenched the sleeves of my trench coat between my fingers and tugged the whole thing over my head, huddling in the safe darkness underneath. My mad screaming gradually turning into a crazy laughter, while tears rolled down my cheeks.  
  
"Please, wake up! Wake up, Will!"  
  
"Oh God, please! Buffy! Don't leave me here! Help me! Don't leave me alone in the dark with him! I don't want to be crazy anymore! I'll be good! I'll behave myself! I'll be a good boy! Don't let him get me! Don't let him, don't wanne be here, don't wanne don't wanne don't - "  
  
"Spike?"  
  
"Will?"  
  
"Don't! Don't tough me!"  
  
I moved away from the hand that had tried to grab me, pulling up my legs against my belly and wrapping my arms across my chest. The darkness in which I was hiding was comfortable, soothing, numbing. It was like the burrow of a hibernating rodent, the air stagnant and thick with sleepy, deadly carbon dioxide.  
  
I heard her voice again. This time no longer from far away, but close enough to hear her emotions sounding right through the words.  
  
"Fight this, Will. You have to come back. You're strong enough to do this."  
  
No I wasn't. I wasn't strong enough to do anything. I was alone, and lost and in the dark. This hole was my tomb. I could hide here forever without her ever finding me.  
  
"Buffy. Help me."  
  
My voice was small and without hope, an empty plead for forgiveness that wasn't anticipated. I didn't deserve her help. The things I had done, horrible, destructive things, all in the name of vicious, useless hate. Dreams of murder and death, all for blood. Dreams of vengeance and rage and resentment. How could I've made up all these dreams, if there wasn't real evil somewhere deep inside of me?  
  
I curled up tighter in the dark, dreams of that fabricated world haunting me. Angelus was haunting me. What had I done to Liam? I hurt him, almost killed him. How could I do such wicked things? He was my brother, flesh and blood. We shared everything. That chair - I wanted to break in his skull with that chair. I wanted to destroy him. All because I believed I could just do such things, that I could allow myself to kill because I had killed before, being a heartless, evil vampire and all.  
  
Oh God.  
  
Liam was right.  
  
I was mad.  
  
My final resolve broke down, crumbling like a brittle wall, letting in the horrible beasties. Whimpering, I buried myself deeper into the darkness, into my grave. It would be better for her if she didn't see me. I didn't deserve her. I would hurt her. I was afraid of what I could do to the people I cared for once my mind was completely gone and the monster took over the wheels.  
  
The darkness was all around me, claustrophobically close on my skin, deadening to the senses. But there were noises coming out of the dark. Angry voices, angry shadows, calling out to me. Telling me how useless I was, how wicked and bad and how I deserved to be left here to rot alone. Crawling on bleeding hands had knees, begging them to stop, I moved into a corner and huddled against it, fear gripping my throat. This was it then. The end of the whole soddin puppet show. This was where I belonged. Where I should be for the rest of eternity. Away from everything and everyone, away from her. Monsters were supposed to be kept out of the light. Timmy had been bad, wandering around in the dark after sunset, now he fell down the bloody well and no one would ever bother to rescue him out of there. They were all very happy to be rid of him, even sealed the soddin lid. Poor, stupid little twat.  
  
The voices became louder and more known to me, and each one of them had the bloody right to shout those ugly things that made me feel worthless, lower then dirt. I started to sob, and softly, I rocked my body as my mother would have if she had been there to provide me comfort. But there wasn't real comfort, there wasn't anything. It was just me, and them, and the darkness.  
  
And then a hand, warm and soft, took hold of mine and pulled me out of there.  
  
  
  
SCENE 4  
  
She watched him struggle against his invisible demons, body curled up in a protective foetal position on a white sheet canvas, his arms and hands shielding his anxious face. His fear and agony pained her, moved her more then it should, considering that she was an experienced doctor, and had witnessed more human suffering than one could imagine. She winced when she saw him claw at his own face, scraping his blood rimmed nails along his cheeks till they wept crimson beads. Her hands lashed out, grabbing his and forcing them down, using all her strength to overpower her patient's mad vigour. Mike came to her with the wet sheets and the restrains, heavy leather belts to be fastened to the metal rings under the bed, but she shook her head.  
  
"Not now. He's fighting it. Leave him alone."  
  
The orderly gave her a questioning gaze, then put the restrains aside on the small nightstand next to the bed and helped her to force William's arms down while the young man wailed and screamed in broken words, the drugs they had injected into his bloodstream tearing down his delusional prison. He panted, chest rising and falling in a hyperventilating pace, his eyes white rimmed in horror, his mouth uttering frightened whinges. It was then that she heard him call out to her.  
  
"Buffy. Help me."  
  
Her heart felt heavy, pained. Somehow, his words had deepened the forbidden, secret feelings that she had for this patient. His plead sounded so piteous, perhaps even apologetic, as if he wasn't expecting her to offer him any help and he was sorry for bothering her.  
  
She grabbed his hand and held on to it. It may be that he wasn't conscious enough to know that she was there, but at least she could try to offer him as much comfort and support as she possibly could. There was relief when she finally saw the madness fading out of him, his tensed body unwinding till his knees were no longer pressing against his ribcage. Slowly, his respiration became more tranquil, and the fear that had been showing on his face ebbed away as she stroke a damp lock of hear from his forehead. When she thought that there was no longer danger of him wounding himself, she told Mike to let go of his arms, and she watched how he tossed and turned like a child, awakening from a terrible nightmare.  
  
And then the light that had been lost behind the insanity returned into his eyes, a spark of recognition came back to them as he was looking into this world rather then staring right through it to hide into his own.  
  
He gazed at her through an opening from under the shelter of arms that he had draped over his head and neck, a frightened and confused animal that had been hunted down cruelly.  
  
"It all right William." Buffy said, her voice light and gentle. "It's all right. You're back with us now. No one will hurt you here."  
  
He muttered something under his breath, then pressed his back against the wall, backing away from her.  
  
"Let me help."  
  
He whimpered and curled away when she tried to touch him. It puzzled her since he had accepted her holding his hand, even clung on to it as though he was a desperate man drowning at sea. Why would he be afraid of her?  
  
"Will." Buffy had to swallow something cold and uncomfortable that would have otherwise made her voice quiver. "Please, I won't hurt you."  
  
His body shivered as if he was struck by cold. Anxiously, he shook his head.  
  
"No, no, no, no, no, no." He muttered. "Not you. You won't. But the other- thing."  
  
"What other thing, William?"  
  
Buffy had to repress a sigh of relief when she heard her patient finally talking back to her, however elusive the conversation may be, it was something to keep him here, to ground him in reality.  
  
"Dark things." He explained, furrowing his brows in dismay. "Things that will hurt you if you're bad." Blue eyes pierced around, suddenly terrified, then he asked in a broken, small voice. "Have I been bad?"  
  
"No, you're not bad, William." Buffy answered, her growing sense of dread started to overshadow the joy of recovering him from his delusional world. "Don't be afraid. The dark things won't get you. Just let me-"  
  
She reached out to him, her hand barely touching his shoulder. William screamed, panic spurring his impulses, moving his limps as though he was controlled by a spasmodic puppeteer. His legs lashed out and struck her in the side, just under her ribs.  
  
Buffy let out a cry and buckled over in pain.  
  
Mike grabbed the thrashing patient by his wrists, forcing them to be stretched above his head. The bright light of the room finally beat down on his bewildered face and William squinted his eyes, astounded that he was by so much light. It was harsh enough to make him terrified.  
  
"Don't!" He cried out. "Don't belong here! Too much light! Burn. They'll make me burn."  
  
Mike straddled him, sitting on his legs till William was no longer trying to strike out with them to fight off his invisible monsters. Finally, his cries died down, his mind shocked by the notion that the light didn't make him burst into flames. Then his eyes caught her standing there in the corner of the white room, nursing her side with a trembling hand, a terrified expression on her face, and softly, he started to sob.  
  
"Told you!" He shouted through his tears, angry with her that she didn't understand. She never did. Never listened. "Dark things. They make it hurt. Make you hurt. Should stay away from dark things. Leave them alone."  
  
He started hyperventilating again, eyes shifting from one empty space in midair at the end of his bed to the other, as if he was looking at a crowd of people that had gathered around him.  
  
"No!!" He cried out, mightily pissed off by their apparent maliciousness against the girl. "She doesn't deserve it! She's not like me. And bloody hell! Stay out of my bloody business!!!"  
  
The angry shout died down into another sob, the craziness inside making him crave to crawl back into that hole again where he could deal with the hostile voices in isolation. But instead he turned his head to his side and gazed at her, weeping with wide-open eyes.  
  
"Buffy?" He asked in concern, almost like a chivalry knight finding the damsel in distress. He had already forgotten what he had done. "Buffy, are you alright?"  
  
Buffy let out a tattered sigh. This was too much for her to bear. Both physically and emotionally, she was drained and horrified. William's cryptic tongue frightened her, as did the murderous rage inside of him that she had seen through the cracks of the icy surface of his paralysing fear. But most of all, it ached her heart to see him like this, so confused, so very lost in madness. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath, trying to control herself. Somewhere buried deep underneath all that torturous insanity, William was crying out to her, begging for help. She would not let him down.  
  
"Yes, I'm alright. Nothing wrong with me." She said to put him at ease, although she knew that there would be a purple bruise the size and the shape of a foot on her skin tomorrow morning. "Calm down, William. Don't listen to those voices."  
  
"Can't." He whispered, afraid that they would hear. "They are always there. Laughing. Talking. Ticking me off. They -" He struggled against Mike's firm grip on his wrists. "No, it's all my fault. Not hers. Or his. I should - I should have known better then to take the whole special package deal without reading the microscopic small prints first."  
  
Buffy walked over to him, a grave mood choking the air out of her throat as she spoke.  
  
"What are they trying to tell you, Will?"  
  
"They -" He paused, listening to their arguments, then whimpered in distress. "Can't do that. Please, don't make me." He hid his face in the pillows, trying to ignore their unpleasant shouting. "Besides, it won't help." He tried. "He's here and it's here. They won't leave. Won't let me rest."  
  
She knelt down beside him, gazing into his bewildered eyes, her anxious face reflecting inside his dark pupils.  
  
"They tell me that I'm bad, Buffy." His voice broke down into a quiet sob. " Poisoned and dead inside. A dark evil thing. I make it hurt." He blinked with his eyes, awareness suddenly rushing back into him. "Oh God." He muttered, staring at her hand shielding her side. "I'm sorry."  
  
"It's - It's okay. Don't blame yourself. You didn't mean to."  
  
"No it's not. Not okay." He shook his head, ashamed. "I've been - I wasn't - that "thing" " He spat the word out in disgust and self-loathing. "I let it get you."  
  
"Will, don't do this to yourself. I'm fine."  
  
"No! Not fine! It's not the girl! Not the girl! Don't hurt the girl!" He struggled free from Mike's grip and lashed out, balding his right hand into a fist and starting hitting his own face with it. "Get out!! All of you!!" talking as if he was trying to chase those voices out of his head. "I don't - I need -" He arched a brow, then stated in an offended voice; "Honestly, your advice is totally out of place here."  
  
"Mike," Buffy's voice trembled. "Put him into the cold sheet pack before he hurts himself."  
  
"You're going to strap down again?" He asked sadly, but with a calm and lucidity in his voice that alarmed her. "You're absolutely right. You should." To her relief, he stopped hitting himself, and stretched his free hand out to her, offering to be held down. "Please, do it. I'm sure I will be grateful."  
  
She helped the orderly to undress him and wrap the blank sheets around his bare body. He shivered piteously when the icy wet fabric touched his skin, but didn't fight to get them off. He just stared up at her, his lips trembling, his eyes begging. She worked fast, pulling the sheets tight and adding new layers while rolling him back and forth over the mattress. Her hands were trained to do this, so was her mind academically instructed to accept this treatment that she put him through as an efficient remedy to calm down his insanity, but inside, she had difficulty accepting this as not yet another terrible ordeal that she had made him to suffer so futilely.  
  
When it was time to secure the leather restrains, she could not longer handle the situation and she had to let Mike finish it while she rushed outside, her stomach heaving. She leaned back, the cold of the hygienically tiled walls slipping through her white doctor's coat, making her tremble. Inside the room, she heard him make a small pleading noise, anxiety expressed in a whimper, no longer in words, when Mike tightened the restrains and fastened them, leaving him in an ice-cold cocoon, bound to the bed.  
  
Her face was as white as the walls in this ghostly place when the orderly came out of the isolation room, gently shutting the door behind him.  
  
"I'm sorry. I - I couldn't -" She stuttered, trying to apologize for her professional error.  
  
"It's okay Dr Summers." Mike said. "He has calmed down now. We should leave him for a while."  
  
"I should have listened to you. I shouldn't have let my emotions get in the way of my judgement."  
  
"It's those emotions that you show that makes me believe that you're a good doctor in the first place." He gave her a reassuring smile. "It proves that you truly have heart for your patients. Sometimes, in a place like this, a heart is all that's lacking to get them well."  
  
Buffy looked up at the tall orderly. "You shouldn't say that!" She uttered. "I've done nothing right. I'm a total screw-up! I mean, look at him! He's even worse now than he had been when I first started treating him."  
  
"What are you talking about? You were the one who brought him back! You pretty much saved him from himself. There was nothing more that you could have done to help him out, Dr Summers. What happened in there was not your fault."  
  
"It is my fault." She stated bitterly. "Because he's my responsibility. He had problems. He was in pain. But I didn't notice them. Dismissed his complains as nothing serious, nothing to worry about. My patient's mind was falling apart and all I had to offer him was a light-hearted "Everything is gonna be all right" speech and my endless strings of fine-fine-fines!" She looked down at her shoes, wiping a stubborn tear from her cheek.  
  
"I ruined him. He's like this all because of me."  
  
She bit on her lower lip. The tears of guilt could no longer be held back. Mike wrapped his arms around her, and she accepted his kindness gratefully. Huddling against the white overall of the orderly, she finally let them roll freely down her face.  
  
  
  
TBC  
  
If you have any questions, suggestions or comments on the story, don't hesitate to email me. Your feedback is always much appreciated. 


	14. ACT 14: I should hide from you Hide my f...

TITLE: "Normal again" (8/8?) part III (Because of length, cut in five parts.)  
  
AUTHOR: Richard Bachman  
  
EMAIL: bachman_rchard@hotmail.com  
  
SITE: nope  
  
FEEDBACK: Give it to me luv, you know you want more of this.  
  
DISTRIBUTION: Do whatever you like poodle. As long as Richard is mentioned I'm fine.  
  
SUMMARY: based on the episode Normal Again. Instead of Buffy, Spike was poisoned by the demon and his consciousness was transported into an alternative reality where he found himself incarcerated in an asylum.  
  
THANK YOU: For your patience, your support and your comments on the story.  
  
ACT 8: I should hide from you. Hide my face. You know what I did.  
  
SCENE 5  
  
A thick folder the size of a small novel lay on her desk, the name of the patient neatly written on a white label rimmed by a metal frame. She sat down and opened it. Her fingers went over the first page and unconsciously lingered at the troubled young man's photo that was secured to the file with a small paperclip. Buffy couldn't help but to anguish herself by noticing that he looked much healthier, much saner on that picture then he did now, bound down to his bed, wrapped in a cold cocoon of utter discomfort. She shook her head, trying to set aside these distractive emotions that kept her from thinking clear. What was important right now was to help William to recover. She had to figure out what was causing his strange behaviour, what was frightening him so much that it made him stop functioning properly. Pinching her nose-bridge, she shook her head again, and then started to go through the file:  
  
Patient 17. Byron, William August. M. 26 yrs. Prev. Hosp: None  
  
Initial Diag: Schizophrenia.  
  
Testing: Tests show high (140-150) intelligence, but thinking patterns disturbed by illness. Many questions were answered incorrectly or were misinterpreted due to patient's strong imagination. Personality tests show typically schizophrenic pattern with compulsive and masochistic components. Intention to extreme violent behaviour.  
  
Interview (Initial): The patient appeared calm and logical in his thinking in the beginning of the interview, but as it progressed and the questions became more personal, logic began to fall away and at several times, he became extremely anxious. Patient believes himself to be a century old vampire called Spike. His delusion has become so severe that he has constructed an entire imaginary world on its own to support that belief, a place populated by characters of myth and a group of humans who are his friends, though he speaks of them most dubiously. Throughout the entire interview, patient tried to impress examiners with his wit as a way of obstructive defence, showing no fear and rebelling against every word of criticism that was to question his identity. Finally, near the end of the session, the patient's attitude changed from controlled to visibly angry, and he began to speak loudly, accusing examiners to trick him into telling what they wanted to hear. "I told you the truth, as I promised her that I would. Now are you head-buggers going to help me or not?" It was considered advisable at that moment to terminate the interview.  
  
Family History: Born London, England, August 1976. One sibling, Liam, born 1971. Father, William Jacob, born 1945, English college teacher, migrated with his family to America in 1981 where they lived in a suburb in SunnyDale till 1995, died of stroke in 1995. Mother, Lily Anne Miller, born 1951, died in car accident in 1991. Patient's birth was normal. Family situation was stable and protective. Liam recalled incidents of mild taunting of his younger brother by his schoolmates because he refused to give up the cockney accent that he had picked up from his father. Puberty was normal physically, but patient suffered severe emotional problems at the age of 16 due to lost of his mother. Caused trouble at school, including a severe incident in which he had almost drowned a fellow classmate in a toilet bowl. Patient was suspended and ran away from home at the age of 17. Family lost contact with him till in the winter of 1995 William Jacob suffered a stroke and was hospitalised in the county hospital. Two day later, patient showed up at his parent's house, according to Liam frightened and confused, his appearance neglected as if he had been wandering the streets for the past three years. He asked about his father and Liam took his sibling to the hospital to see him, but they arrived too late. After his father's death, patient moved in with his brother in Los Angeles, till in early 1997, he decided to return to his hometown and move back into the abandoned parental house. He re-attended college and took writing classes, determined to become a writer. Patient visited his brother frequently and his mental and physical health improved till an unfortunate car accident in June 1997 caused him to slip into a three-month long coma from which he awakened in a catatonic state. Patient was submitted to the clinic in 1998 with approval of his brother. Patient stayed in catatonia without any sign of improvement in response to given medications or treatments. Chances at recovery were considered small to non-existing, till in spring 2002 an improvement in his condition was observed, patient started to fight back and finally succeeded in obtaining full consciousness on 15th of May 2002.  
  
She turned the pages, her tired eyes glanced at a collection of graphs, showing various tests scores. William's personality dissected on paper, explained in numbers and compared to the normalized standards of sanity. She laughed, bitterly. How arrogant these people were if they believed that they could just decipher something as complicated as the human mind in a couple of tests and interviews. She had been working with William for a period of three long months and she still couldn't fully understand him, let alone the high and mighty physiatrists at the board who had decided that he was best addressed to as "patient 17" instead of just William. She pinched her nose-bridge again, slightly aware that she was starting to take over the hardly favourable habits of her mentor (thank God I don't wear glasses, she thought) when a knock at her office-door startled her.  
  
"Um, come in. I'm still awake." She answered, only half joking.  
  
The door opened and Mike came into her office, the anxious expression on his face predicting no other but bad news.  
  
"Dr Summers. I think you need to come to see William."  
  
Buffy just got the most terrible feeling sinking into her stomach. "What is going on? Did something happen to him?"  
  
"I don't exactly know what happened." The orderly explained, grimly. "But he has to go see a physician. He's bleeding."  
  
  
  
SCENE 6  
  
" How could I've been so blind." Buffy whispered. She clutched her fingers together, anxiety getting the better of her. "This is awful."  
  
Mike, who had been sitting next to the young doctor in the waiting room ever since they brought William to the clinic's emergency ward, gazed up at her.  
  
"I should have seen it through his frenzy. Recognized the symptoms. It was so obvious."  
  
"Don't blame yourself, Dr Summers. I haven't noticed anything either, and I was the one who was supposed to keep an eye on him all day."  
  
"How could this have happened? Who would do such things?" She just couldn't say it out-loud, the one syllable word carrying such a horrible meaning. It baffled her mind that someone would ever want to hurt William like this. As if he hadn't already gone through far more than enough.  
  
Mike kept looking at her in silence, eyes unblinking, analysing the events that he had witnessed on this awful day. Finally he cleared his throat and decided to tell the young doctor what was exactly on his mind. Mike was a good-hearted man, honest to the bone with a down to the earth wit. He had a way of putting things rather straightforwardly, unpolished and hard, but whatever he said came directly out of his heart. "Dr Summers. I don't know if I should say this, but - I got a feeling that Will's brother has something to do with this."  
  
Buffy, who had been staring down at her sweaty hands the whole time, gazed up at the orderly, her expression first puzzled and then, as the words sunk in, horrified.  
  
"You -You mean Liam?" She stuttered. "No. Oh no, that's not possible. Liam loves him. He - He cares about him more than anything else in the world. He would never do this."  
  
"But he was also the last person who was alone with Will for more than half an hour before he suffered that relapse."  
  
"That could have been just a coincidence. It might have nothing to do with this."  
  
"Will was calling him a monster." He said, very seriously. "And he tried to kill him."  
  
Buffy shook her head, the inner voice of reason begging her to reconsider what Mike was telling her, but her heart fleeing in denial for the truth was too sick and too terrible for her to possibly accept.  
  
"Listen Dr Summers. I'm almost sure that he got something to do with this. I saw it in Will's eyes. He was absolutely terrified of him. I'm telling you, it wasn't mad raging hatred that made him pick up that chair and try to smash it down on his head. It was dead threatening fear that drove him to it."  
  
"Will has this delusion in which a vampire called Angelus has bugged him for decades." She muttered, trying to think of some facts that could serve as an excuse so she wouldn't have to suspect the guilt-ridden older brother. "Maybe he was looking at Liam and saw something in him that made him think that Liam was Angelus. Something that scared him and made him to react like that."  
  
"Perhaps." Mike looked away from her, questioning his own judgement for a brief moment. "But even so, don't you think that he has made up Angelus to look like Liam for a reason? Did he ever tell you what this vampire guy had done to him, given you any clues?"  
  
Buffy swallowed, the noose of anxiety tightening around her neck. "Well, he did. In our private sessions, he once told me that Angelus was - abusive, evil. And he described him as his mentor, even his creator." She rubbed her eyes, a haze of tiredness settling in front of them. "Mike, look, we shouldn't just leap into conclusions here. We don't even know if it happened recently or that the wounds were from a couple of days before. It might have been one of the patients on the ward."  
  
"You have been working on our department for what? Five years now? You know this has never happened before."  
  
Buffy fell silent. She knew that the orderly was right. The patients who fell under her care were mostly victims to light cases of Schizophrenia, who came to her scared and in distrust but regained their faith in people after much care and hard work. They were colourful individuals, even more emotional than perhaps the average Wall Street stockbroker, but none of them were this disturbed or evil to could have done this to a fellow patient.  
  
"Dr Summers?"  
  
"Yes." She answered, standing up immediately and feeling guiltily relieved that she could escape from the horrific notion that Mike had planted in her mind. In front of her stood a dark-haired doctor in his early forties with tired eyes and a grey tan, his green uniform and doctor's coat crumpled and stained. A nametag carelessly fastened to his clothes introduced him as doctor Welter, but the physician himself didn't even offer her so much as a hand. He went straight to the point, as if he was an important man always delayed for his next appointment. Brows furrowed, he read aloud from the form on his clipboard.  
  
"Patient number 17, mister William Byron. He's under your care?"  
  
"Yes, he is. How is he?"  
  
"He has been raped." He stated, indifferently. "The assault had caused some damage to the rectum, tore the muscles apart, which explains the bleeding. And the sphincter is damaged, also torn. The first complication cannot be treated and has to heal for itself. The second one can be treated and one of my students is currently attending him as we speak."  
  
She was baffled for a moment, having expected a compassionate doctor, someone who would bring the bad news to her in a careful, comforting way. However, this Dr Welters guy was utterly blunt and offensive, chillingly cold. Telling her about Williams condition as if he was reading up a grocery list, and dealing with the rape issue itself as if, well, as if it wasn't an issue at all.  
  
"If you could fill in the forms at the nurse station, and get back here in let's say, ten minutes?" The doctor continued. "He should be ready by then."  
  
"Doesn't he need to be taken into the hospital ward?" Buffy asked, agitation starting to build up in her voice.  
  
"Hardly. He needs a couple of stitches to get the wounds to start healing. That's all."  
  
"I'm sorry, but I really don't get this. You're sending him away, just like this, after he's been raped? Doesn't he need monitoring or anything?" Her voice was loud and rising. Her frustration no longer concealed. "Don't you think he needs more then just a bit of clumsy needle work?" She spat, sarcastically.  
  
Doctor Welter looked at her with a tinge of contempt on his worn-out face. "Look Dr -" he gazed down at his form again to recollect the foolish girl's name. "Summers. The hospital ward in this clinic has only enough beds for six patients. This, if it has eluded you, is a madhouse. I got people cutting their wrists and bleeding themselves dry in the toilets on a daily basis. I had a woman this afternoon, who had tried to amputate her own leg with a blunt plastic spoon because she believed she saw Satan's face on it. I can't take them all in and the staff and I are still working ourselves into an early grave at ten in the evening to keep up with the damage that you so-called specialists have done. Don't expect us to do your work as well."  
  
His words weighed heavy on her soul, and made it impossible for her to continue to vent her frustration on the physician. "I didn't mean to be offensive." She tried, apolitically.  
  
"But you was." He stated acidly. "Now excuse me, I have another patient to attend to; another casualty of physical abuse that I have to stitch back together ever so clumsily. If you were so kind to remove yours from the emergency room and clear the space for the next patient?"  
  
Buffy wanted to say something, but the doctor turned around and strode off to the double doors and disappeared inside.  
  
"Are you all right?" Mike asked, observing the paleness on her face. "Man, that guy is a complete jerk."  
  
"I'm all right." She muttered softly.  
  
"Don't feel bad about yourself because of what he said. Doctors like him get nothing but the worst cases sent to them. They never get to see what good you and others like Dr Giles have done. I've seen it, and I know how much you mean to people like William."  
  
Buffy answered his kindness with a small, wavering smile. She partly believed that what Mike told her was right, but a bigger part of her was still shaken by the words of the bitter doctor. In a certain way, they had been true. She had panicked after she had seen the blood on the towels, the diluted red pools of water on the shower room floor. Mike had led William there for him to take a warm shower after he was released from the cold pack. However, William had been shivering continuously, unable to move his hands and wash himself, so the orderly had tried to help him with it, soaping him in and scrubbing the suds off his chest and back. It wasn't until the orderly was drying him off with the clean white towels that he noticed that there was blood running between his legs. She came to see William immediately after she had been informed by the orderly, and the very sight of her patient had shocked her then. He had been standing there, shivering in the cold in his bare form, hugging himself tightly. He didn't dare to move, couldn't speak or look her into the eyes. Kept his gaze to the floor, terribly ashamed. The pain he felt wasn't physical, but she knew that it must be as ever as great as real physical pain, and it had reached her. Violated her as he had been violated. Her first impulse was to run away, to escape all that agony that she had seen on his sad face, deny its existence. Deny the guilt. Then, after a moment of silence in which she had fought against her tears, she decided that she should react professional and composed as she was trained to, running down a protocol in her head so she didn't had to think too much of what she was actually feeling. She asked Mike to clean him up and bring him a new set of clothes. She helped him to get dressed, moving him as gently as she could. Their eyes met only once, when Buffy had to repeatedly asked him to raise his arms so she could shrug a shirt over his shoulders. The blue in his eyes had somewhat paled, made less lifelike by a far-away look. She knew then that she had to act quickly. William was starting to fade away into his own secure little world again, but after all that was so cruelly done to him, she couldn't possibly blame him for shying away from reality. She herself, had troubles accepting. In his troubled eyes lay too much responsibility, too many consequences for her to face regardless how she would react.  
  
She told Mike that she wanted to speak to William alone for a moment, and asked the orderly to wait for them outside. As she walked over to the double doors entering the emergency room, she knew that whatever great jerk Dr Stitch-a-lot-Welter was, that the man still had a point. She couldn't just run away from her problems. She had to find the courage to face them, head-on. Be strong for his sake, because he needed her to be there for him more than ever before.  
  
It was time to pick up her heart and start taking care of the things that were her responsibility.  
  
  
  
SCENE 7  
  
William knew that he had been bad, he must have been. Frogs and snails and puppy dog tails, right? That's what he was made of. Just like all the other naughty boys who were brought here. He couldn't see them, obscured as they were from his eyes by endless green rows of curtains, but he knew that they were there because he could hear them, screaming, singing, and crying. William himself didn't participate, he felt already too ashamed to allow him self to indulge into such lucky display of full madness. He was lying on his belly on a cold metal examination table, his trousers and knickers down to his ankles and his shirt tucked up, his bare flesh horribly exposed. A nervous young man with sweaty palms and unsteady hands was in charge, tormenting him with scalpels and needles. He didn't say much either, just concentrated on the infliction of pain like a professional executioner would, the cutting of already injured flesh, the sharp sting of a needle, followed by a red hot track as the thread was pulled through. Torture had become an art in his inexperienced hands. William bit on his lower lip, not allowing himself to scream. It served him right to be tormented in this sterile hell. He shouldn't have let them know. Let them see what had been done to him. Now that they knew how he truly was inside, how small he was and how ugly and dirty, how used, he was so terribly afraid that she wouldn't come to see him anymore. That look she had given him while he stood there in the cold and damp room, his body paralysed by the shock of being exposed, his shameful little secret stripped naked before her eyes in sinful puddles of blood - that look had been one of utter horror and disgust. He had frightened her, he knew for he had recognized the fear. He knew because she had brought him here and abandoned him, leaving the disgusting little thing to the hands of an acid doctor with a withered humanity, let him probe and touch him till he was bleeding again. And then, there were the voices coming from those who just wouldn't allow him to rest, that sang to him the harsh truth that she might no longer care.  
  
William barely dared to look up at them. The two, translucent figures standing at the head of the table, supervising his punishment with much interest and a hardly disguised sense of glee. A gentleman dressed in a Victorian outfit, long tailed coat, proper white shirt and cuffed sleeves, a generous moustache obscuring his upper lip, his dark hair combed back carefully and shining with grease. Next to him stood a woman, also Victorian with her wide, elaborately decorated dress and her tiny, corset captured waist. She was hardly beautiful, but she had the air and the manners of a sophisticated English Lady.  
  
The man had a railroad spike buried through his skull, just above his right eye-socket.  
  
The woman had not yet uttered a coherent word. Her lips had been sewed together with rough stitches, leaving her delicate mouth a raw festering mess.  
  
The man loomed over his shoulders, and William couldn't restrain himself from uttering a small yelp of fright when blood spilled from the horrific wound, down the short, rusty pin and dripped on the back of his hand.  
  
"What's the matter dear William? Never seen blood on your hands before?" The ghostly figure asked, his question not bearing any malice or reproach. It was merely a statement, as if the gentleman was in the mood for a bit of a social chitchat. He tilted his head to the right, and white wriggling maggots fell out of the empty eye. William whimpered and coiled up, horrified.  
  
"Look, can you just keep still for a minute? " The med student asked, irritated. "You've almost broken the fucking thread. You want me to start all over again?"  
  
He tried to relax his muscles, although they were tight as cords. The needle went in his raw wounds again, and he felt how the thread pulled painfully on his flesh.  
  
"Oh my." The phantom gentleman muttered, shaking his head in dismay. "Such appalling language, coming from an academic. Such lack of good manners. Things have certainly changed since our last encounter."  
  
The woman next to him mumbled something, giving her opinion with sealed lips. The man sighed deeply and rolled his eyes.  
  
"Priscilla, my dear. You know that we can't understand you when you're like this."  
  
The woman scowled at her ghostly companion, indignation written all over her pale, skull-like features. She turned toward the small table next to William, where various operation equipments had been spread out on a green fabric. She grabbed a pair of miniature scissors and started cutting through the stitches.  
  
"No!" William yelled, panicking. "Don't! Don't let her!" Then, suddenly remembering, added; " I had a good reason for doing that!"  
  
"I'm afraid I cannot withhold her." The English gentleman stated, almost compassionately. "Well, you know how she is. Her tongue cannot be silenced when there are matters to be said."  
  
"I said hold still!" The med student snapped. "Are you besides crazy also deaf or something? Man. my last shift for today and I have to get this crazy fruitcake.  
  
William groaned and watched sullenly how the last thread was cut. Priscilla put away the instrument and moved her jaw, cautiously. Her peeling lips cracked as she tried to pull them into a proud smile, bits of black thread still sticking out of the red rotting flesh like spikes from a dried cactus.  
  
"There." She muttered. "Much better. Honestly Steven, I was getting quite upset about this whole sit -" her phrase was cut short as she suddenly leaned forward, her throat working frightfully. She tried to shield her unseemly behaviour from sight by placing her hand before her mouth. Then she gagged and threw up a pile of stinking mouse carcasses that landed in front of her expensive looking shoes. She looked at it in full horror, her face paling into a yet unknown colour of translucent white.  
  
"Priscilla dear." Steven Rathbone tried rather cautiously in an attempt to calm down his fiancé. "Now don't get upset now. You knew that this would happen."  
  
Priscilla Schnubly, an full blooded aristocrat and well respected member of the higher social circles of Victorian London, let out a terrifying shriek that caused goose bumps to form on William's skin and tied his stomach into a cold knot of fright. The scorned lady turned to him, her carefully made up eyes no longer indifferent and patronizing, but raging and accusing, hatred aging her skin and hardening the corners of her misshapen mouth.  
  
"You!" She shouted. "You did this! You sick, pathetic little whore!"  
  
William uttered a small terrified sound, then tried to coil up again, his heart racing.  
  
"You murdered me!" She shouted. "You filled my mouth with rodents and sewed my lips together, threw me in a hole in the ground and buried me alive! Just because mister William Byron here is afraid to hear someone tell the truth in his snobby little face, exposing you for just what you are, which is nothing but a sad, worthless, gutless little worm!"  
  
"You stupid nutcase!" Yelled the agitated med student. "Look what you've done! You made me lose the fucking thread!"  
  
"I - I am sorry." William stuttered, guilt sweeping up and clearing some of the paralysing fear out of his mind. "I - didn't mean to." He swallowed, tears pushing to the surface. "Please. Forgive me." These were words coming from his heart. It wasn't a pretentious way to deceive his personal demons, and he was slightly surprised by his own honesty.  
  
"Poor William." Steven Rathbone said. "As if these kind of things can be taken care of so easily by uttering those two simple words. It's much more complicated than that."  
  
"Yeah, whatever." The med student muttered, opening a new package of sterilized thread. "Anyway, it's your ass that's bleeding, not mine. It's just that I got more to do than listening to your overripe crazy talk all night."  
  
"Is that why you're here?" Priscilla snapped, her long ghostly neck stretching toward him like an elastic string of pastry. "To be forgiven? Do you think that allowing yourself to suffer all this will make it easier for you, soften the guilt that is eating you up from the inside?" She laughed at him, high-heartedly, shrill and cold like the December wind howling through an abandoned building. "You're a fool William Byron. Punishments are not suffered by the fallen because there is forgiveness to be earned. They are endured by the wicked because that is all what they deserve."  
  
"That's why it's so foolish of you to put all your trust into that girl, um Miss Buffy Summers, wasn't that her name?" Rathbone opted. "She won't pity you, neither will she ever be able to love you. Face it my boy, you don't deserve her love. You're not good enough for her. You're totally beneath her class, physically and morally."  
  
"She had seen you how you truly are." Priscilla taunted. Shifting around William with ghostly grace, her body vanishing into the steel table, cutting through it like a ship sailing through fog. "Stripped from all the pretentious confidence and stubborn strength that protects you from the outside world. The pathetic, weak, disgusting thing that hides itself from the light. And she had been repulsed, utterly horrified."  
  
William shook his head, tears blinding his eyes. "Please, stop this."  
  
"Don't be such a cry baby. I'm almost done." The med student muttered. "Could have been finished already if it wasn't for you thrashing around."  
  
The vengeful phantom smiled broadly, content with the visible agony she had caused. "You know that she doesn't want anything to do with you anymore. She left you here after she had seen how ugly and dark you are inside. Left you all by yourself. Let the sadistic doctor tie you up. Violate you like the stupid little whore that you are. Left you here to be punished and bleed."  
  
"No, no no no." William muttered, sinking his head between his arms, folding his hands over his ears. "Enough. No more. Please, I beg you."  
  
"Begging doesn't help, William." Rathbone said, his voice turning grim. "Neither does praying. It didn't help me at least."  
  
"We pleaded for our lives and you killed us all the same." Priscilla stated, bitterly. "The heartless monster won't let us live, even after we had begged him in tears, scraping our knees bare over the gravel." She leaned closer, her hatred for him burning fiercely in her eyes. "You tormented us." She hissed.  
  
"Tell us you don't deserve what it's done to you today, William." Rathbone came also closer to him, his expression no longer socially friendly, but bleak and hostile. "Tell us and we will leave. Allow you to be left alone and to be able to rest at last."  
  
"I can't. I can't tell you that." William sobbed, his shame burning on his cheeks, hidden in darkness. "I deserve this. I deserve to be punished."  
  
"That's exactly what we thought." Priscilla remarked, a malicious tinge sounding through her voice.  
  
"Poor little William. Deserted by everyone."  
  
William peered up at Rathbone who grabbed the blood crusted end of the railroad spike and pulled it out of his eye, rusty iron scraping over pieces of bone. A dark gush dripped down his right cheek making him look like he had been weeping tears of blood, while pale, black headed maggots wriggled in his empty socket, a thousand tiny eyes shifting inside his skull. Rathbone gazed at the murder-weapon in his hand, then turned his head toward the terrified William and smiled, a nightmare vision of death. "Lost and alone" He muttered, callously. "Nothing left to live for but to be castigated for the evil he had done."  
  
SCENE 8  
  
"I can't. I can't tell you that. I deserve this. I deserve to be punished."  
  
Buffy heard him before she saw him, his strange emotional ramblings coming from behind the drawn curtains. She shifted them aside and stepped inside the tiny, secluded space. William was lying face down on the operation table, gazing up to an empty spot in the air with wide-open eyes while panting in frantic horror.  
  
"William?" She tried. Walking over to him cautiously.  
  
"I won't try too hard if I were you." A nervous looking young man told her, throwing away his blood tainted gloves and cleaning up the place. "I mean the lights are on, sure, but there's nobody home in there."  
  
"Could you leave us for a minute?" She asked.  
  
"Sure, whatever. It's time for a break anyway. Could use a good nicotine rush after having to put up with this crazy nut here."  
  
He strode off, plucking lose bits of tread from his sleeves. "Just don't let him break anything in here. Oh, and if that old slave-driver Dr Welter asks about me, tell him that I have already moved on to the next patient, will-ya?"  
  
"Sure." Buffy said, faking a smile to appear polite. "No problem."  
  
She waited till the rude med student had vanished behind the curtains, and turned to William, who was still staring straight out into the empty space in front of him, his head tilted slightly to one side as if he was listening carefully.  
  
"William?" She crouched down beside him. "Will, what are you doing?"  
  
He turned his head and looked at her, startled. His cheeks damp of fresh tears. Then returned his gaze to the spot in the air, furrowing his brows worriedly.  
  
"Will, what's going on?" She asked softly, careful not to frighten him.  
  
"I -" He paused, licking his dry lips, looking at her again, but averting his eyes shamefully when he noticed that she was studying him. "I was talking to them. Asking them to forgive me."  
  
"Asking who? And why? I mean, you didn't do anything wro-"  
  
"I did. I did horrible things. I - I murdered people. Taking revenge. A monster, a murderer. I have blood on my hands." He lifted both his hands from the surface and held them up to show it to her. "See? Blood. Blood everywhere."  
  
"I don't see any blood, William." She assured him, trying to remain calm. "There isn't any blood. You haven't hurt anybody."  
  
He bowed his head, pressing his hands to his ears as his invisible demons started shouting at him again. "I hurt people. They are yelling at me. Dead inside. Dead and dark and ugly. You've seen me. You've seen what I am and you ran away from it."  
  
"I didn't run away." She said, her heart feeling heavy. "I helped you to get dressed and brought you here with Mike to see the doctor, remember?"  
  
"You wanted to. I saw it in your eyes. You were afraid of me. Disgusted."  
  
"That isn't true! It wasn't like that. I was -" She paused, taking in a deep breath to calm her rampant emotions. "I was shocked. I didn't know what to think. I guess - I was weak."  
  
She gazed into his eyes, and was relieved to find them looking at her instead of staring at the phantoms in his head.  
  
"I'm sorry, Will. I should have been there for you."  
  
She reached out and gently, she grab hold of his hand, holding it up in front of him. "There's no blood, Will. Your hands are clean. Whatever these gutless bullies tell you that you've done, it isn't real. You're not a monster. You're William August Byron. You're a good man."  
  
She felt relieved as she saw how his face lightened up a bit when she spoke these words to him.  
  
"I don't want your pity." He said, his voice not angry, but sad. "Don't deserve any. Liam got all hurt because of me."  
  
"Liam, did he - did he hurt you? Frighten you? Is that why you attacked him?"  
  
William whimpered and hid his face from her, making her regret her impatient questioning immediately.  
  
"Will? Don't be afraid, tell me what happened."  
  
"It wasn't his fault." He muttered softly. "I deserved it."  
  
"That's - That's not true!" She was only slightly aware that her voice was louder than she wanted it to be, so filled with sudden anger was she. "Nobody deserves that. Especially not you. What happened wasn't your fault, Will! Please don't feel guilty or ashamed about yourself."  
  
William blinked his eyes in confusion. "So you're not angry with me? You didn't bring me here because - because you wanted me to be punished?"  
  
"I brought you here because I wanted to help you." She said, hardly in control of the trembling in her voice. "I want to see you get better again."  
  
He closed his eyes, concentrating on his own thoughts while trying to shut out the endless string of insults that he got hurled to his head by the two unforgiving phantoms. Finally, he opened his eyes again and looked at her ever so shyly.  
  
"Do you - Do you love me?"  
  
Buffy was startled, the sincerity sounding in his voice made her believe that it wasn't his illness that had driven him to ask this peculiar question, but she wasn't sure it was his full sanity either.  
  
"Why are you asking me this?"  
  
"Please tell me you do." He said desperately, almost pleading. "If you do I can tell them that they are both bloody lairs and tell them to sod off. Get them out of my head. But if you don't - Then I think I have to believe them." He was very serious about it. "Please. Tell me you care about me." He averted his eyes, barely able to look at her.  
  
"I don't know." She hesitated when she saw him shrink away from her answer, fluttering his eyelids nervously, his eyes dashing from her face to the floor and back again. Maybe I should lie, she thought, tell him that I did love him. I must care about him enough to pull that off. He's too confused right now to notice the difference anyway. But as she pondered about the lie, she realized that it wasn't that far off from the truth at all.  
  
She did have feelings for him.  
  
"I -do - love you." She furrowed her brows, confused about her own confession, but feeling relieved at the same time to have these words off her heart at last. "I didn't realize it before." She watched how his eyes widened, staring at her, making her feel somewhat embarrassed. "Stupid, isn't. It took you getting all ramblingly insane to make me see it."  
  
He looked at her now, right into the eyes, a great gratitude showing on his face. "Better late than never." He said, giving her a slight nod. "Thank you, Buffy."  
  
"Yeah, well." She muttered, his honesty sending butterflies into her stomach. He just gave her the sweetest look, mesmerized as he was by her presence. "No need to if telling you this can help you with getting those crazy voices out of your head. Are they going away now by the way?"  
  
"Who?"  
  
Buffy gave him a slightly suspicious look.  
  
"Oh, um." William reluctantly tore his gaze off her and glanced around, looking for the vindictive spirits that had tormented him just minutes before, but they were nowhere to be seen. "I think they're gone." He said, a bit confused.  
  
"So you don't have to yell at them to them get out?"  
  
"Guess not. They just disappeared, but they were not much than thin air to begin with."  
  
"God, I really hope that you're not faking this to get me to say this to you! Because if you are -"  
  
"No! I wasn't faking them!" He protested loudly. Sounding hurt. "They were here! They were telling me things. Tormenting me. Made me afraid to lose you. But you chased them away." He calmed down again, his mind half lost, half lucid. "You always chase the bad things away. Help me, even when I don't deserve your help. You're the only one who keeps me sane."  
  
Buffy smiled, touched by his words. His eyes showed a sadness and loneliness that reflected his soul. His words and gestures all cried out a silent craving for love, so intense that it was aching. It filled her heart with a deep affection for him. And for a moment, she forgot who she was and who he was and all about the narrow-minded, cold world around her. She leaned forward, her eyes half-closed, her lips moist and anticipating, her hands gently folding over his flushed cheeks.  
  
She found herself kissing him.  
  
There was a part of her, the sane part she supposed, that was all ~ Oh, my God, what the hell am I doing! ~ while wishing that she would stop before someone came in and saw her taking advantage of her feeble minded patient. (Because that was exactly what it was when one considered the codes of conduct for a practicing psychiatrist; shameless abuse. Manipulation of a man who wasn't quite sane enough to distinguish empty spots of air from real persons of flesh and bone, let alone get himself sorted out to come to the rash conclusion that he was deeply in love with her.) However, the emotional, perhaps more primal part of her, pleaded not to stop for the sensation of his mouth on hers was overwhelming. His kisses were tender, painfully shy at first, but became fiery and passionate as he realized that she wanted him. Truly wanted him. He closed his eyes and let her lips caress his, making it buzz and tingle, filling up on electricity coming from her soft flesh. It was everything he dreamed of; it was warm and affectionate and blindingly bright, a glimpse of heaven that he would never set foot on. It was complete.  
  
It was love. Her love. Unconditionally in return.  
  
Her touch ebbed away. Slowly, but still so very painful was that departure. He leaned toward her, trying to linger to those lips for precious seconds longer, but eventually, he had to let her go.  
  
He opened his eyes again and smiled, dumb-folded, almost unable to believe to be so very fortunate.  
  
"Strawberries." He whispered, looking into her eyes, lost in them like Odysseus on his ocean, never able to find shores.  
  
Buffy brushed a lost lock of his hair back to his ear and gave him a puzzled look.  
  
"Your lips." He explained, smiling timidly. "They taste like summer strawberries."  
  
  
  
TBC  
  
Second part of this chapter will be posted here on ff.net coming Thursday. Yes, I do know that I am evil and will be loathed, spit on and dragged through the gutter by you for quitting this chapter at the point when things finally starts to take a right turn for our poor Spike/William, but 6990 words is no doggy-fart either, so don't give me any of that lip. (  
  
And yes, I do realize I've screwed up William's age. I'm gonna fix that up by revising the old chapters, he's now officially 26 in this twisted little tale.  
  
Cheers Richard 


	15. ACT 15: I shouldn't be talking to myself...

TITLE: "Normal again" (8/8?) part IIIb (Because of length, cut in five parts.)  
  
AUTHOR: Richard Bachman  
  
EMAIL: bachman_rchard@hotmail.com  
  
SITE: nope  
  
FEEDBACK: Give it to me luv, you know you want more of this.  
  
DISTRIBUTION: Do whatever you like poodle. As long as Richard is mentioned I'm fine.  
  
SUMMARY: based on the episode Normal Again. Instead of Buffy, Spike was poisoned by the demon and his consciousness was transported into an alternative reality where he found himself incarcerated in an asylum.  
  
THANK YOU: For your patience, your support and your comments on the story.  
  
ACT 8: I shouldn't be talking to myself. I can't stand that bloody git.  
  
  
  
SCENE 9  
  
Wonderful, beautiful, and incredible. That's what she was. The soddin cherry on my soddin pie, all sweetness and sugary goodness. Did I mention she was wonderful? Did I? Well, she was. Didn't want to spin three times around forgetting about that! She, with her goldy-locks and pouting lips. Her eyes, God, I could swim and drown in those eyes.  
  
I loved her so much that it bloody hurts.  
  
And she loved me.  
  
She - she kissed me.  
  
Buffy kissed me!  
  
Not that she had never kissed me before. The fake Buffy that was. Back in Crazy Never Never land where she was a sadistic little Slayer and I the ever love-sick whipping boy, her pet vampire so to speak. But even then, before I finally realized after waking up that I had been trippin on foggy brain-farts, I knew very well that it wasn't real. Lust, craving to do wrong, the dark luscious appeal of seduction, followed by mind-boggling, sweaty flesh on flesh shagging. That's what it was. Not love. It had never been love. Until now.  
  
I gazed up at her, all cheer happiness and moronic gratitude, strapped in my wheelchair, wheeled around because my legs refused to walk. Stupid, silly little legs, all rubbery, like they were made of molten strings of soddin tin instead of bone and flesh and skin. But I didn't mind. How could I? She was right beside me, supervising my ol' mate Mike while he was wheeling me through the corridors (You may think it was buggery-daft, but you have to be in control of these things. Really, wheelchair-pushing is not for the average inexperienced wanker. You need to have a licence to be allowed to get behind that chair, trust me).  
  
"Where are we going?" I asked, and watching her face reminded me of that kiss she had given me just then. She smiled at me, her endless kindness warm and pleasant on my skin and I wished that she could bath me in that loving, caring, radiant smile forever and ever.  
  
"We're bringing you back to your room. Don't worry. Everything is going to all right. I'll take care of you, promised."  
  
Back to my - But there were - Oh no no no no! That was definitely not all right. Not good. Not good at all.  
  
"Don't bring me there!" I yelled, a tad to loud, a bit too freaked. "Buffy, I don't wanne go back there. That room, it's swarming with the nasty head buggers. Don't want to be crazy again. Don't wanne let them get into my head." I pleaded with her, eyes begging. Begging helped. With her it always did. "Please, don't."  
  
She looked at me, a gracious God, ever forgiving. Ever loving. Even if I had been worse than the devil himself. She did pity me. I'm bloody well insane but not a complete idiot here. But I knew that she loved me not because she though of me as a poor lost wee little lamb to be guided back into the flock of brain-dead, drooling sheep, she loved me because - Why did she actually love me? I couldn't think up any good reason for her to hand her heart over to this nasty piece of work. I didn't deserve her. She was light, compassion, everything that was bloody worth spending your days on this rotating heap of dirt for. I, on the other hand, was - (a tyrant, a killer, a liar, ruthless, pitiless, EVIL) was not worth her love.  
  
I started to hyperventilate. Somewhere from down the very depressing hallway returned the first whispers of doubt, cold and bitter. It swept me away, carried my soddin carcass like a corpse drifting on foaming waves, and I froze.  
  
"William, what's wrong?"  
  
The whispers grew stronger, more violent in their descriptions of malice, but still it was no more but a faint, ghostly murmur of a long dead crowd. I shook my head and pressed my hands on ears, frightened whimpers escaping my throat while my personal demons droned monotonously in my head.  
  
~ Murderer ~ Murderer ~ Dead inside ~ Evil disgusting thing ~ Soulless ~ She won't ~ She doesn't ~ She will never ~ She is ~ weakness ~ Your weakness ~ hunted ~ hunter ~ killer ~kill her ~ Kill her ~ That last request came to me in Dru's luring voice, sing-songing it into my brains. I closed my eyes, horrified.  
  
"Buffy." I said, weakly. My words got stuck. I was so very afraid that she could hear them too, so terrified that she might get to know what was spooking through my head and just leave.  
  
"Don't listen to them." She grabbed hold of my hand. "I'm here. I'm not leaving you."  
  
Really, how did this girl know when to say the exact right thing? Is she a natural or what? I nodded, sensing the hostility in the chaotic voices swell like a soddin baboon's bum after spanking. Ignoring it, as best as I could. Any idea how hard that is, to ignore a thousand voices all yelling at you at the same time, trying to talk you into doing crazy things, piling up a guilt complex inside of you that exceeds the limits of the soddin sky? It was impossible, almost. If it wasn't for her, I wouldn't have even tried. Got better things to do than attempt to empty the endless oceans with a leaky bucket. Got people to meet, places to be. The sulphuric pits of molten lava in hell to visit. But she was here, right by my side, and everything suddenly became so much less stressful. Made me wanne stay away from those voices instead of granting their common wish and go find a couple of sharp razorblades or stick my head in a thick pillow.  
  
"Don't bring me back to that room." I sobbed, bloody sissy that I was. "Please don't. They're all waiting for me there."  
  
She was silent for a moment. Indecisiveness and anxiety pulling on her like heavy weights. You could almost see her balancing her options in her bare hands.  
  
"Mike, perhaps we should bring him to the seclusion-room. I don't like the idea of restraining him."  
  
Mike nodded and made a turn left, away from the ghostly company that was expecting me in my own bedroom. I sighed of relief as their whispers died down till it was no more than an annoying buzz that I could ignore when I kept thinking my own train of thoughts. Had to keep myself busy though. The trick was not to be quiet enough to hear them.  
  
"Hey, I've never been here before." I opted, when they helped me out of the roller and into the tiny room. "Padded walls, padded floor, padded door." I murmured. Then, getting curious, lifted my eyes to the ceiling. No padding of course. They didn't think that I could jump that high. "Oh, I get it!" I said, a bit proud. A bit cocky. I didn't get to be cocky a lot these days. "This is for crazy people, right?"  
  
"Um, yes - I mean, no. It's just a quiet little place where you can calm down." Her cheeks flushed, pretty pink blushes. She was embarrassed, feeling guilty to have to lock me in here. I could tell.  
  
"Silly me. Silly crazy William. It's - a resting kind of place, of course. Not a nut palace." I murmured, shaking my head. I didn't want to upset her. Wasn't her fault that I was as mad as a revolving door. I sat down on the wobbly floor with my back against the wobbly wall. Pulled my knees up, wrapped my hands around my legs and gazed up, giving her a huge - Hey, look at me, mom! - grin. "I think I stay here for a while. To get - calm."  
  
Buffy hesitated. "You're sure? If you want to go somewhere else, there are vacant bedrooms at the other side of the ward and -"  
  
"I'm fine, really." Shaking and nodding my head, not sure if I did the right thing in the right order. "It's a good place. No voices. And it's all comfy and soft and oh, look! No gory bloodstains! That's always a winner on my bed -and - breakfast guide."  
  
She rewarded me with a little smile. Still, she looked sad, was concerned about me. I think I didn't try hard enough not to upset her.  
  
"Look, don't worry about me." I said, in my sanest voice that I could master. "I'll be all right. You said so yourself. Go and do whatever you have to do to make a living in here and - and shut the door. Let me deal with myself. I think I can handle the bloody git."  
  
She gazed at me, the tenseness in her shoulders dropped a bit after the thinned out comfort that I had to offer. "If you need anything." She said, gently. "If you don't want to be in here anymore. just open the small window on the doorpanel and call us."  
  
I nodded and smiled at her. That type of smile you gave to your loved-ones on Sunday-lunches to let them know that your life was all roses and peaches, while in the meantime, you really got dumped by your girlfriend, fired from your job and evicted from your apartment. Quite desperation, hidden beneath a toothy, faked grin.  
  
She leaned toward me and gave me peck on my damp forehead, her lips surprisingly warm against my flushed skin.  
  
"Try to lie down and sleep a little. I'll be back to see you tomorrow morning." She cupped my face with a comforting hand. I leaned into it, brushing my cheek over the gentleness of her touch.  
  
I didn't want her to leave me. In here, all by myself with nothing to listen to but my own bug-shagging gibberish. It was dark outside and all the corridors of this comfy madhouse were not stretched long enough to separate my torment-demons from my short-circuited brains for very long. She was my bloody sun that chased away the nasty dark dwelling creatures in broad daylight. And now that she was leaving, I was stuck at twilight with the growing sense of dread that I didn't exactly know how to make a light to be able to go through the night without getting hunted down and killed.  
  
"Buffy." I tried. To explain it to her. To beg her.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Nothing." I swallowed a lump, huge and heavy to digest, chewing on my lower lip. Not enough balls to ask her. How sad.  
  
"See you tomorrow. Good night."  
  
"Uhuh." I managed to babble, then she left and the door was closed behind her and I could hear the clicking of several locks. The lights didn't go out, but somehow, the place seemed darker after she was gone.  
  
It was not my intention to act crazy or anything. I wanted to be sane, whole again. No creepy mind crawlers to drive me crackers, no more vindictive dead aristocrats leaving piles of maggots under my bed. But the point was that it was kinda difficult not to act crazed when you were in fact absolutely nutters. Your body wanted to, your mind hungered for it, and the surroundings in which yours truly here was located right now was all inspiring, of course. It was really the most decent thing to do, to fill this quiet little room with all the madness that was slamming and screaming inside. I let it all out, the fear, the anxiety, the self- loathing, a Catholic sized GUILT. All in brilliant colours, sickening green, depressing blue, dangerously bright red, all with their own set of creative agony that compelled me to literally bounce off the soddin walls (No, I didn't bounce high enough to knock my head on the ceiling, if you wanne to know). I couldn't see or hear or notice anything till the raging storm had settled down, and I found myself weeping, huddled against the smelly padding and trembling like a wet dog. Rocking back and forth, my mouth uttering nonsense.  
  
That was when I saw him standing there at the other side of the cramped room, silently watching me. Soddin pity all written over his haughty face.  
  
I took a ragged breath, wiped tears out of my eyes with tugged up sleeves. Composing myself as best as I could.  
  
"What do you want?" I asked, agitated. No patience was in me to deal with the likes of him right now.  
  
He lifted his silver framed glasses with the tip of his finger, ever so slightly. A nervous tick the bloody nonce had, together with his pencil ticking on empty sheets of paper and endless nail biting. A disgusting habit if you asked me.  
  
"I came to see you." He said. Just like that. As if it was all the information I needed to know what was exactly going through the wuss' pudding brains to pay me a visit on this hardly favourable time.  
  
"Yeah? You're here and you're done with seeing me. So sod off. Leave me alone."  
  
"What happened?" He asked, brows all furrowed in concern.  
  
"It's none of your business. Piss off!"  
  
"What do you mean it's none of my business?" He said, surprisingly louder now. "I was you, Spike! Don't you think I deserve to know what's happening to us while you're floundering around, wasting decade after decade, using my mortal vessel as a cheap rental to go cruising through the swamps of absolute immorality? Doesn't the rightful owner get a say in any of this delusional adventure of yours?"  
  
"Hey, I thought you were supposed to be a poofy Victorian wanker. What's with all the modern poetic talk?"  
  
"I was." He opted. "But try spending a whole century in limbo with a whole bunch of shady types flowing through the gates while your stuck at the bar with your millionth serving of Brandy and I can assure you that you'll be able to pick up the changes in modern language pretty fast."  
  
He walked toward me. Well, not walking in the precise definition of the word. He moved his feet but he was sinking into the padding constantly, waddling through with possibly his neat shiny brown leather shoes dangling somewhere close to the ceiling of the floor below us.  
  
"Really." I said, being sarcastic. " I didn't know you drink. Didn't I make you up to be all vomity allergic to alcohol?"  
  
"Yes well, you learn to drink quickly and a lot with the likes of you keeping me out of heaven. Any idea what kind of hell limbo is? It's like sitting in an overcrowded cocktail-bar, watching everybody who came in later than you getting a table at Our Lord's first. I mean, I do have good manners of course, but even a soul has only a limited amount of patience."  
  
"You're bug-shagging crazy." I said. "You're not real you idiot! Didn't you hear me? I said I made you all up! Some weird alter-ego thing probably. Hell knows what that was any good for. You're not my long lost soul spending eternity in God's waiting room. You wish."  
  
"What? " The stupid git was one of those annoying as hell characters who did understand you loud and clear the first time around, but had to seal every line you utter with a moronic question. "Spike! You're not serious are you? I mean, you don't really believe that all this is real, do you?"  
  
"Look Gibbering One, I'm ill. I'm bloody insane. So stop bugging me. We can have this conversation another time, over a cup of imaginative earl Grey and sandwiches perhaps. Right now, I'm trying my very best to calm down in here, because that's what this room is made for, right? To calm down and NOT to listen to the bloody headbugs who are trying to make me crazy. You being here, is not exactly helping."  
  
"Spike, I'm not one of your personal demons. Listen to me. You're ill all right, but not in the way you think you are. We have to get ourselves out of here."  
  
"Oh, really. Brilliant plan. Didn't think of it myself. Of course I have to get out of here! But only when I'm sane, dimwit!"  
  
I watched him roll his blue lookers to the padding-free ceiling and suck in his cheeks. Irritated of course, I know I would be if I were him.  
  
"I'm only sent here to help. Stop being so obnoxiously offensive."  
  
"Stop calling me Spike. It's William."  
  
"No you're not. Not really. I am William. I'm not sure who you are." He tilted his head and stared at me, this poofy version of me in tweed jacket and flannel trousers. An air of bookish nerdism floating around his head like a soddin nimbus. "Actually, I'm not even sure why I need to be here in the first place. Undoubtedly, it wasn't your fault that you were injured by that horrible demon thing, what it's called? That dreadful Glarkul-what-me nik?"  
  
"It's glarghk guhl kashma'nik. And you're partly right. You're definitely not me. You're a hell of a lot stupider."  
  
The wuss strolled around the tiny room, ignoring my snarky response, obsessively rambling about himself. The egocentric git.  
  
"Right, they send me here in order to fix things. Set the record straight. Offer me a chance to get off my barstool and into the highly desired place. But, bloody hell! What in heaven's name am I supposed to do with you? You're - a demon! I've never heard of any demons redeeming themselves successfully, let alone one of them slip past the gate's security and make it into heaven."  
  
"I'm not a demon." I tried to explain to the very obnoxious illusion, not being very patient with him. "I'm a bloke. A crazy bloke, but still human, definitely not demon."  
  
"You are a demon. Trust me. After I died, and the cosmic powers kicked me out of my dead and limp body before I could even finish my strings of embarrassing ohings, you came crashing in with the eagerness of an Hungarian immigrant. Don't you remember the first moments after being turned? How strange it felt to be a part of matter? To have a real body at your disposal? Before that, you were nothing but a wobbling field of chaotic energy drifting through the ether, clinging on to that insane vampire girl, nagging on and on in her poor head to help you find a vessel."  
  
"I don't remember being surprised, except for suddenly being dead and buried, that is." I stated bitterly. Then, realizing that I was reasoning into the wrong direction again, added rather lamely. "Not that any of that was real of course."  
  
"You thought it was you who died because you had my body, Spike. There are things that tend to seep into the mortal flesh, experiences, emotions, hiding in the cracks and creases, not removed when the soul is evacuated. I lived in that package of yours for 26 years, my friend. Even your rusty old Lincoln is getting shaped after your dare I say flamboyant personality after ten-odd years, don't you think that I would at least leave an impression of me in there? Something to affect a powerful but absolutely naïve demon barely taking its first steps into the material world?"  
  
"You want me to believe all this?" I asked, trying to sound bold, but meanwhile, there was this feeling of unrest in my bones that started to work its way up into my spine, riding the express highway to my mind. "Bloody hell! I've heard enough gobbledigook in the last couple of hours to bake a soddin fruitcake out of it, but this is absolutely richer than dairy fat!"  
  
"It's true. I'm not lying to you. You're not the real William August Byron who died in 1880. You're a demon, shaped by my memories and feelings, driven by your own instincts to do the absolutely wickedly wrong things, and thereby condemning my immortal soul to hell -"  
  
"Hang on there a minute!" I thought I had discovered the flaw in his fantastic tale, something to shut the wanker up so he would stop making me nervous. "If you're right that you're by no means me, why will you be responsible for anything I do or won't do?"  
  
"Because it was my fault. You see, I let Drusilla bite me. She tempted me into it, true, and I was having a particularly bad night, with Cecily breaking my heart and those rich snobs laughing at my work. He should have picked any other day to test my determination in doing the right thing perhaps. However, the point was, I still could have walked away. Stopped her. She would have probably drained me dry after refusing her, but I wouldn't be responsible for creating a dangerous vampire to taunt mankind for the upcoming 120 years. In a certain way, all the innocents you've murdered, all the evil you have done, was partly my doing too." He sank his head, his eyes averted to the murky yellow stains on the padding, and for a brief moment, I felt sorry for him. I knew what it was like, to have your mind eaten away by guilt.  
  
"So after my death, He decided that I should wait outside of the golden gates till He had made up His mind of what to do with me. I was a lucky chap not to be cast down into the fiery pits of hell immediately. I mean, every word picking judge would have found me guilty and discarded me with the rest of the sinners to spend the rest of eternity in damnation. It was, to a certain extend, a very cowardly approach to attempt suicide from my side, allowing her to kill my old self in return for something better. Such a fool I was."  
  
I listened quietly. My heart quivering, my palms sweating. I didn't really like this scary little bedtime story he was telling. Even if it was of course, as fake and unlikely as a tasty brand of American beer, the whole theory behind his imaginative babbling brought a chill into my body.  
  
"But I'm here because of you. You are one nasty piece of work, you know that?"  
  
I nodded, and for the first time since the poofter had appeared in the room, I became a bit frightened of him.  
  
"They told me they were watching you. Just as I did if I was drunk enough to dare to take peek down, that was. There isn't a spot on our skin that hasn't been once drenched in other people's blood."  
  
I sank my head in shame. Somewhere from behind the secured door, I heard one of my demons laugh at me.  
  
"They say that you've changed."  
  
I lifted my head, gazing up at this mirror image of myself. Unable to understand how it could be that I wasn't the man that I believed to be, William August Byron, the insecure young man dreaming of becoming a writer, driven to madness by his own delusions, a complete nutter, perhaps, but real. A person.  
  
This noncy git who was halfway down to scaring the crap out of me was terribly convincing in pushing me to believe that I was nothing but a dark ugly force cast into a deceased man's body. His body, of all bloody people.  
  
"It's all because of her, isn't it? That girl. The Slayer?"  
  
Buffy, again everything leaded back to Buffy. As if my whole soddin existence was built on hers. That I merely came to be, to play a part in her struggles fighting against the dark evil forces. How did this wanker exactly know, how to make me feel so insignificant and utterly useless?  
  
"She's a good thing that we're having in our life. Don't turn your back on her. She's the only one who keeps you away from damming us straight to hell."  
  
"I won't abandon her. I love her." I uttered, before I could put a cork in it.  
  
He smiled. "I know you do. You've done something extraordinary because of that love. Something that's possibly my only salvation. Yours too."  
  
I blinked my eyes, heavily confused.  
  
"You see, you were not supposed to end up in here. There had been a bit of a mix up in the fate department."  
  
"What?!" I asked, dumb-folded.  
  
He sighed, embarrassed to have to tell me this. "Well, you were not supposed to be getting poisoned by that Glarkal kulllurlu - oh balls."  
  
"Glarghk guhl kashma'nik." Slightly surprised by his swearing. You don't get to hear your Victorian double utter a word like that everyday.  
  
"Right, that thing. Thank you. It should not have been you who was sent into this asylum-verse of Sunny Dale. It should have been Buffy."  
  
"What?!!" I uttered, that daft moronic word again, but I was too baffled to think of something smarter to say.  
  
"Honestly, I don't have any bloody idea what you were doing there in the first place. It was by all means, hardly helpful what you did. It only complicated everything, sent destiny reeling off track. The chaps up there are working overtime trying to fix this little paradox you've created. Hence, my part in the whole rescue mission."  
  
"I don't get this."  
  
"It's simple. I have to convince you to get back into the right dimension. I didn't have the slightest idea how to do that, so I decided to just tell you the whole story. Hoping that you might still have enough common sense in the pudding of your brains to realize that you don't belong here."  
  
"I do belong here." I muttered, desperately clinging on to those words. "I - I'm crazy and all that about me being a - a demon, a vampire. It's all bullocks! Made up, like you are! All fancy little lies to keep me from staying awake. Staying sane. I won't believe a word you blather you hallucinated wanker!"  
  
"Spike, listen. You really can't stay here. I know it's quite comfortable for you, particularly now that Dr Summers has finally told you the one thing that you like to hear so much, but the point is that you're needed back in the other reality. The original intention of getting Buffy here was to let her know that she was needed by her friends, that she couldn't just keep her head stuck in a pail of mud to avoid the blows. If everything went according to schedule, like it had infinite times before, she would have figured what was to be taught by the end of her second day in the institution. You, on the other hand, are a very slow student."  
  
"Look, I'm not going back, no matter what you say. Why do you care if I return to good ol' SunnyHell or not? Are they gonna let you in as soon as I transport my consciousness back into your corpse or what?"  
  
"It's hardly that easy." He grinned, bitterly. "It has to cost a lot more than that. In the end, I've to pay dearly for all of our sins. And so do you."  
  
"And you're surprised that I'm not eager to jump in?" I stated. "Besides, they're punishing me already. All those made up victims of my shadowy past? They're here. Tormenting me. Driving me to the bloody edge of self- mutilating desperation."  
  
"And it will become worse. Trust me, I know. But it's part of the path you've chosen."  
  
"What soddin path? I didn't explicitly ask to become a masochistic nut! I just - I just want to be sane again - normal - to be with her."  
  
"But you'll never be able to be with her if you stay here. Don't you see this, Spike? This is the devil's easy way out. His free-out-of-jail card offered to you on a silver serving-tray, rimmed by slippery deceit with a forked tongue. You think you've earned it, after all that you've suffered. You think you should get the girl and live happily ever after as the reward of everything fate had made you to swallow. But you have to ask yourself, truly, what have you done so far to deserve to be forgiven by Him? What in your actions has made you equal enough to deserve her?"  
  
"I - " I tried to think clearly, search deep within my memories, both the false and real ones, to justify myself, justify my luck to have her. But I couldn't find anything or I had to lie.  
  
"I - don't. Oh God. I don't." My words became garbled as my over- productive tear-ducts started working again. He watched me sob in silence, compassionately, but unresponsively, like God himself watching the disasters that taunt humankind taking place from up his throne shaped cloud. Deeply moved, perhaps blinking away a tear or two, but generally not even lifting a bloody finger to help out.  
  
"He's not indifferent you know. He's only doing what a good parent should, let His children stand on their own feet and find their own strength. You can't blame Him for the weakness of man to abuse whatever freedom of will that is given to them to turn it into something ugly."  
  
"What are you? A bloody mind-reader?"  
  
"I'm just a soul who had spend too much time talking to other miserable souls, only I had time to think about everything what was said while the others rushed into heaven after a couple of decades or plunged right into the burning inferno below."  
  
"I don't exactly remember you having a very strong and balanced character either." I snorted, shielding my sorrow and insecurity with sarcasm and wit. "What happened to the bloody awful whimpering poet?"  
  
He didn't bite. "People grow, Spike. Even dead ones. Demons on the other hand, are not very known for their ability to change for the better. That's what makes you such a strange case for them to crack. You're different. It's hardly imaginable for a demon to be able to grasp something as elusive to them as the concept of conscience. But here you are, feeling guilt and remorse without the guidance of a soul. That is quite an achievement."  
  
"You're wrong." I tried, one more time, to plead for my insanity instead of having to swallow all that terrifying truth that he was forcing down my throat. "You're absolutely wrong! I'm not a demon. You're contradicting yourself. A demon cannot feel any remorse. Go ask fluffy Peaches in LA. He will tell you. You can't be all remorseful and flogging yourself with a cat o' nine tails for what you've done without a soul. That's you, mate."  
  
I really thought I had him then with my clever observation, but he just shook his head and smiled sadly at me. The bloody git. "You've confused me with your conscience. Sometimes, to make things easier to understand, people try to explain the soul as the ability of a being to distinguish right from wrong. But you know that it's not entirely true, right? Serial- killers, rapists, dictators, terrorists, Bill Gates, they all have souls but are at least a bit deprived in the conscience department. Your conscience is just a tool to help you to make the right decisions. If you're pigheaded enough, you'll be able to ignore it, choose not to use it and do whatever comes to your liking instead, which is exactly what you did the first hundred-odd years of your existence. A soul on the other hand, is an essence. A force with a mind on its own. Most souls are good and pure, but not strong enough to withstand temptations, and people end up heavily screwed or screwing others. In my case, I was the one who got screwed, and the result of my weakness ended up hurting others."  
  
"But - then, w-what is left for me to be?" I stuttered. A sickening feeling doing a somersault in my stomach. Didn't much appreciate to be cast down all the way of the celestial ladder, to be defined as once again, a soulless evil thing. "I mean, you can't just hop in here and tell me I'm a soddin soulless monster! I have to be something to be able to feel all this! Otherwise, what is the bloody point?" my voice quivered, fear and anger mixed into a powerful emotional cocktail. "Why should they make me fall in love, torment me with it till I can hardly breath without thinking about her! Why would they let me know what's it like to feel guilt? It's an utter waste of time if it wasn't for that they wanted to redeem me, force me to see the wrongs in my doings, right?"  
  
"I told you before. I don't know exactly who you are. You are a demon, but you entered my body as a blank sheet of paper, no word about the character was written on it perhaps expect for the total lack of control over so much emotions, the trait mark of evil and insanity. However, what you have become, partly because of who I once was, partly because you had time to experience life itself, is a mystery to me. To be honest, I don't believe that you're entirely soulless, Spike. And I do realize that demon's don't carry around souls in the very way humans do. But, there is something in there. Something very much like yours truly here that perhaps can be defined as one. Otherwise, you're right. I wouldn't understand why they would bother with us both if there wasn't a small chance of you and me finding forgiveness."  
  
I sucked in a ragged breath of air. My emotions rampant. My mind clogged with contradicting facts and knowledge. I felt heavy, worn-out like an old shoe. I wanted to crawl in a corner and sleep.  
  
"Forgiveness." I whispered. "That's not something that's easily earned. Better not expect it, than to be horribly disappointed after trying very hard to get it."  
  
"It's the only way to silence the voices, to allow ourselves peace."  
  
"I thought you weren't me. That you didn't want to be me. You shouldn't be talking in plural like we're best mates or something. Because we're not."  
  
He gave me small, all knowing grin. "In the end, there will be no difference anymore between you and me. It's what He wants. And ignoring the popular saying of Him moving in mysterious ways, most of his biddings, are actually very carefully planned."  
  
  
  
TBC 


	16. ACT 16: Sleeper

TITLE: "Normal again" (8/8) part IV (Because of length, cut in six? parts.)  
  
AUTHOR: Richard Bachman  
  
EMAIL: bachman_rchard@hotmail.com  
  
SITE: nope  
  
FEEDBACK: Give it to me luv, you know you want more of this.  
  
DISTRIBUTION: Do whatever you like poodle. As long as Richard is mentioned I'm fine.  
  
SUMMARY: based on the episode Normal Again. Instead of Buffy, Spike was poisoned by the demon and his consciousness was transported into an alternative reality where he found himself incarcerated in an asylum.  
  
THANK YOU: For your patience, your support and your comments on the story.  
  
ACT 8: Sleeper  
  
  
  
SCENE 10  
  
The night had progressed halfway down to the next morning when Buffy finally reached the doorstep of her house, her mind exhausted from an emotional day, her body cold from a chilly wind that swept through the streets, making a flock of clattering leaves rise from the ground. She unlocked the door with an unintended loud noise, and although she tried to push it open most carefully, the squeaking of the rusty hinges and the groaning of old wood, made her worry that perhaps she might wake up Dawn. But the small hallway remained peacefully quiet and no sound came from upstairs. Her little teenage sister must already be fast asleep.  
  
Buffy hung up her coat and strolled into the kitchen, took a smelly carton of skimmed milk out of the fridge, took a sniff, then decided that it wasn't worth the risk and discarded the miniature cheese fabric in the already overflowing garbage bin, and picked a bottle of Coke instead. Although it had already been opened and the fizz was all gone, it still tasted chemically challenging enough to be free of any microbial invasion that seemed to be tyrannizing her groceries. She also picked up a stale slice of pepperoni pizza, leftovers from Dawn's nutritious dinner, considered shortly of heating it up in the microwave, took a bite, then decided that it would do and, after spinning two layers of kitchen paper from the roll, headed for the living room.  
  
She sat down at her mom's antique writing-desk, consuming the horrid piece of fast food, flushing it down with sips of fizzless Coke. She took William's file out of her bag, staining the cover with greasy finger marks. It was odd, but she wasn't that tired anymore. Back at the clinic, just after she had put William away in the seclusion room, she hadn't realized how worn out she was, emotions stirring up tons of adrenaline to keep her going. The first thing she did was to go back to her office and start doing research, reading books that dealt with the psyche of rape victims. In order to be able to help him, she must first understand (or attempt to understand) what kind of hell William was going through. However, as the evening progressed and she kept making up excuses for not having to abandon her work (or was it not having to abandon him?), the weariness started to get to her, tugging on her eyelids and filling her mind with garbled pudding while it should be filled with knowledge. Still, she stood her stand till three o'clock, after which she decided to take one last look at William to make sure that he was still all right.  
  
Through the small, pigeonhole-sized window, she saw him, fast asleep, his body curled up into a tight knot, his chest rising and falling in a peaceful rhythm. No bad dreams. No imaginary voices. It was only then that she had really made up her mind that it was time to call it a day and get her own portion of good ol' shut-eyes before she collapsed in front of Will's padded cell and started snoring rather un-ladylike.  
  
However, after finishing the pizza, the fizzy drink and, after another short trip to the kitchen, half a bucket of ice -cream, she felt invigorated and anxious enough to start worrying again (it must have been all that sugar, she thought; mental note to myself: do not consume large quantities of Hagendaz's Chocolate cheesecake goodness just before getting a night's rest, or you won't get any.). Not the type of worrying that she considered as helpful to her and Will, because it drove her into professionalism and whipped her brains into action to find solutions. It was more the useless kind of worrying, the sort that distracted her from being the collected, rational Dr Summers, and turned her into a volatile emotional dupe. It boiled up with a nosy string of trouble-bubbles, while she was staring into the shady pool of light that her tiffany desk-lamp provided.  
  
Did she do the right thing to tell William what he wanted to hear? That he thought he wanted to hear? Did she love him? Did he love her, or was it just his illness that made him believe that he did? In that case I shouldn't be worried, the rational Dr Summers part of her considered. I mean, lying to a patient isn't much of a crime as compared to falling in love with one. If he didn't mean it, then my words back there in the emergency room didn't have any meaning either, right? I can't be falling in love with someone, who isn't in love with me.  
  
Although it was late, she still had enough common sense left to know that the last part of her reasoning was absolutely nonsense. Of course she could. And she had perhaps.  
  
Buffy Ann Summers! Please, pull your self together! This isn't the time to take a membership on Will's craziness! She shook her head, a physical motion that kicked in an impulse inside her head to do the same mentally, so that her girlish thoughts of insecurity was spilled from her mind. Really, having too many problems to deal with right now to start worrying about the sincerity of Will's feelings for her. She must focus herself on the problems, focus on -  
  
"Liam." She muttered, scraping the spoon over the bottom of the empty bucket for the last bits of sticky chocolate. God, how was she going to deal with Liam now she knew the horrible truth? She was still having when she went to see William, but after she had seen his reaction to her questions, she could hardly fool herself any longer. His fear, his recent torment by insanity, perhaps even, while she was considering, his entire mental illness, had something to do with Liam.  
  
Should she report the crime as it was, get the older brother arrested?  
  
"That would the right thing to do." She said to herself. "But it wouldn't be the smartest." If Liam got arrested, he would be trailed and charged for physical abuse and rape, subsequently jailed for four to five years and lose his custody over his younger sibling. Liam would end up without any hopeful prospects for the future and William would lose his only brother.  
  
And that was what, exactly? A great loss? Did you already forget what he had done to Will? He raped him! He took away his pride, took possession of what was not his to have and drove him to madness out of horrible shame. And now, Dr Summers, you're feeling sorry for that monster? What are you, the all-forgiving Mary? Didn't you see in which state the incident had left him, how it had destroyed him?  
  
"I'm not going to keep this quiet because I'm pitying Liam." She said, softly, slightly aware that she was having a rather peculiar conversation with herself. Boy, perhaps it was really time to go the bed. "I'm doing this for Will." He didn't want to bring Liam into trouble. It might have been the ill-thinking pattern of a rape victim that had been talking to her earlier this evening, but she did know that he cared about his brother. That he needed Liam to keep him grounded in this reality as much as he needed her right now to set things right for him. "I can't just - tear his only family away from him. That wouldn't be right." She thought of the photographs Liam had showed her only this morning, the wide grins on both boys' sun tanned faces ("Summer-camp." Liam had explained to her, smiling at her not without the sad glee of sweet melancholy. "God, were we a handful! Will and I had to do most of the potato peeling for the entire camp because we managed to get ourselves into trouble almost every day. Ever had bits of cooked fur- ball drifting in your breakfast? Will's idea."), and the inevitable Holliday shots ("Christmas '83. See that tree over there? Mom used to make loads of cookies to get the whole thing decorated. Took her boys three days to make a full afternoon of baking efforts completely fruitless. They definitely didn't make it to Christmas."). She couldn't decide if the pictures were lying, or that she just wasn't ready to accept the truth that such an ugly and heinous deed was not the product of a cold, stone - hearted monster, but the wrongdoing of a man, whose normal appearance was so just and lovable that nobody could have suspected anything. It was even harder for her to understand what had driven him to it. Had Liam been violent, compulsive or easily enraged, it would have at least provided her a sketch of character that fitted the felony. However, he seemed to be none of that, and the profile of William's family didn't point out any signs of physical abuse suffered by the hands of their parents as a possible motif for his actions. It had to be something else. Although the files didn't bear as much information on Liam Byron as it did on William, there was still enough about the older brother documented in there to give her the impression that Liam was considered a decent man by his family and friends. A sensible man with a rational mind, as he was described by her colleague who had taken the interview. There was absolutely nothing wrong with him, but perhaps only the great remorse and the overprotective behaviour he expressed when dealing with his younger sibling's illness.  
  
Buffy chewed on the cool surface of the spoon in her mouth that quickly warmed on her tongue. There was that nagging feeling again that told her that something wasn't right, that the answers to her questions were more complicated than that she wanted them to be. When she was still a student, she once had taken classes on criminal psychology, and from what she had learned about the subject was that these type of offenders could be divided into two groups, One group was driven to the act by desperation, an outburst of uncontrolled emotions, blinding them for their actions. Most them did feel remorseful after the felony had taken place.  
  
The second group was also driven by strong emotions, although not the type that any normal person could ever understand. It was a burning rage that was more abstract and wasn't specifically pointed to anyone, but more to everyone, that fitted the criminal's criteria of potential victim. The criminal's actions were compelled by his strong belief that the world had deeply wronged him (the rude cashier, the you-are-not-good-enough-for-my- daughter mother-in-law, the bitch boss), and that he should take his rights in his own hands to make it better. The people he hurt were not seen as human beings. They were not subjects but objects. To be degraded. To be dismantled. To be owned. There was absolutely, no remorse after the act.  
  
The first group consisted of wife-beaters, frustrated boyfriends, and shameful fathers who couldn't quite keep their hands off their own children.  
  
The second group consisted of dangerous serial killers.  
  
Liam could be fitted into the first category, considering the remorse he showed towards his brother (It made her sick to her stomach to think that during all that time she had felt sorry for Liam blaming himself for his brother's illness) and his passive character. Liam had been devastated after the horrible incident in the visiting room. She had seen his complexion, pale as a ghost, his features turned crude, and noticed the slight movements of his trembling hands towards Will, who was lying on the floor unconscious at that time. He wanted to help him.  
  
Liam went back to his hotel after she had put much effort into explaining to him that there was nothing he could do to help out, that it would be better for him not to see Will if his fit had something to do with his presence. There had been pain in that man's face. Even with the red swollen cut running down one side of his cheek reminding him that his younger brother could have in fact, killed him if it wasn't for the staff's intervention, he couldn't escape his conscience.  
  
She wanted to give the man a second chance. For Will. But perhaps also, as she reconsidered her feelings towards the older brother, a little bit for Liam himself too.  
  
But why was there still this tiny little voice inside her head, that warned her for what she was about to do, told her that it might not be such a good plan to keep this dark secret hushed? Why did it say that she should reassess everything most cautiously?  
  
Buffy couldn't figure out what was bothering her. She thought that her reasoning was rational, considered enough to be transformed into action. She would call Liam the first thing in the morning, inform him about Will's situation to reassure him, but not mention a word about the rape. Then, she would make an appointment, telling him that she had something serious with him to discuss concerning Will. When he showed up in her office in private, she could approach him tactfully. Ask him the burdened questions. Talk him into getting help and offering help to him herself. She would promise to keep it a secret between them, and in the perfect scenario of her mind, Liam would accept her offer, go in therapy, and leave Will alone.  
  
As with many ideas concocted in the early hours of the morning, it seemed like a good workable strategy. A win - win situation in which she could save both brothers without having to sacrifice anything in return. Simply brilliant.  
  
Still, there was that whiny little voice again, accompanied by that nagging feeling that something wasn't quite right.  
  
  
  
  
  
SCENE 11  
  
Sorrento is a small village on the west coast of Italy, north to the ruins of Pompeii, south to the dark, rat-infested alleys of Naples, just balancing on the seams of Lady Vesuvius luscious green skirts. Decades ago, it wasn't much more than a collection of tattered little hovels, on the verge of collapse any minute. The docks in the small harbour were rotting away from underneath and smelled like dead fish. You got a pebble beach there, consisting of sharp volcanic rocks in all colours and shapes, able to scrape open your bare feet till the cuts started bleeding ferociously, although you would have barely minded the mild stinging in your soles. At twilight, you could see the boats wobble and nod their ways back to the port, sun scarred men bringing in their meagre catches to fill their hungry brats' mouths with. The sky would be endlessly high, becoming darker by the minute, while at the other side of the sea, the retreating sun sank into a rippling puddle of her own colourful blood. The stars and the moon would come out, while the last bit of sunlight bounced off the waves, kissing it goodbye with a farewell orange glow. Somewhere above, seagulls would shriek.  
  
I used to love sunsets, observing them in the sanctuary of shadows, the cheery end of a useless day. There was this feeling of finiteness, as if the daft Bugger up there had finally figured it out that there was no sodden point in letting the sun come up everyday, if everything had to end up in darkness anyway. Eternal darkness, now that would be a real treat for the likes of her and me. No more hiding from the sun, no more limits to our strength. Mayhem, death and bloodshed 24 hours a day, just like cable telly.  
  
With a slight rumbling noise coming from my empty stomach, I looked at her, cradled in my arms, her soft long hair tickling my shoulders. She stirred, and her lips parted in a small sigh. Her eyes opened, fluttering gently.  
  
"Spike?" She said.  
  
"Yes, luv."  
  
"I'm hungry."  
  
We got out of our shelter and ventured into the tiny village. There was only one bar in the entire town, but it kept its doors open till the very last costumer was gone. Some funny South European hospitality thing, wished that the pubs back home would adopt the same policy, but anyway, local wine went down the locals' gullets as if it was tap-water in there, and the boozers were easy pickings. We went to a table in a quiet corner, sat down and watched silently. When the patron came and advised us to choose one of his excellent wines, we picked him instead. He smelled of soggy armpits and sweaty Parmesan cheese, but according to her, he tasted like sweet grapes. There were more victims that night. A drunken fisherman with a crumbled photo of his family but no money in his pockets. A rose cheeked harlot with eyes still too innocent to be any older than fourteen, but with a body too broken and used to be that of a child.  
  
At the end of the evening, we strolled back to the beach, my arm wrapped around her shoulders while she herself clutched on to a blood-red scarf from the dead girl that we had left behind in the narrow maze of cobbled streets. Suddenly, she yanked herself away from me, and draped the cloth around her slender neck, letting it sliver down her low cut dress like blood.  
  
"Guess who I am." She said, a thin smile on her lips.  
  
"Well, geez, I don't know. Little Red Riding Hood?" Half mocking her, offering just a bit of benevolent teasing.  
  
"Ha! You wish!" her smile broadened, but there was no real glee in it. "You're not the Big Bad Wolf, you know."  
  
I walked up to her. Her features were lovingly familiar in the sparse pools of streetlights. Somewhere behind the crumbly walls of decomposing houses, came the distant roaring of the sea.  
  
"Then tell me, luv." I whispered close to her, close enough to smell the copper in her breath. "Tell me, who are you supposed to be?"  
  
"It's not a hard riddle to crack, really. I'm a vampire with a dead whore's scarf around my neck."  
  
She just said that. Without emotion. Without compassion. She was like me now. Dead inside.  
  
We reached our lair, an abandoned house near the beach that had once belonged to a happy elderly couple whose bodies we had discarded in the cellar beneath the tidy kitchen. As long as they didn't start to smell, we were not planning to move out.  
  
Just as we were about to set foot on the small wooden veranda, she twirled around. The scarf was now secured to her hair in a flame-red bow. She kicked her shoes off her feet and staggered back, her red lips pouting into a luring grin.  
  
"Come on Spike. Let's take a walk on the beach. The moon is beautiful tonight."  
  
I watched her slip one strap of her dress over her shoulder, baring pale skin underneath. Her blue eyes appeared black amidst the dark midnight blue of early morning, while her soft curling hair seemed to be made out of silver moonbeams.  
  
"Buffy." I managed to say, my voice trembling. Although the very sight of her, the unreserved beauty of her darkness, had overwhelmed me, there was this strange feeling of sadness that I couldn't quite place. I had her love. She had become one of my kind and would spend the rest of eternity with me. I should be happy, but I wasn't.  
  
"I would love to take a dive in the sea right now. Let the fish tickle my legs." She purred, her voice seductively low. "Don't you want to see me naked?"  
  
"Love to, pet. But there isn't enough time to go skin dipping in the sea. The sun will be up in an hour."  
  
"Ah, come on. Don't be such a whiny but! A whole hour should be more than long enough." Her hand slipped underneath the second strap and as she pulled it down, the entire dress fell from her body like a lose skin and sank into a heap of untidy folds before her feet. Her hand gently cupped her mango-sized breasts, tendrils of silver curled loosely around her pale sweet little face while moonlight stroked her soft curving body.  
  
Understandably, I had some trouble controlling myself.  
  
"Buffy, listen." I explained, trying not to think with the growing bulge that was currently straining my trousers. "If you want to take a dive in the sea, we can go tomorrow night. Skip the elaborate three-course dinner to spare the evening and only go for a quick bite in town. But for now, we really don't have the time to - "  
  
"Come and get me." She whispered, her voice carried away by a salty sea- breeze, and she turned around, ran across the pebbles till she reached the dark sands of the shore and dived into the hulls.  
  
"Bloody hell." I muttered, after which I quickly shrugged my shirt over my shoulders and subsequently hopped on one foot to get rid of my docs. "Buffy!" I yelled, slightly panicking. But she was already too far away to be able to hear me. Beads of moonlight caught on her skin and her slippery body just seemed to dissolve in the waves.  
  
"Is this what you want? How you though it would be?"  
  
"This isn't what it might have been." I said, a sharp tinge of resentment in my voice. "This had already happened. Once before. With Dru." I turned and met William Byron's accusing stare. "I know what you're trying to do, but this isn't working. Buffy is not anything like Dru."  
  
"No, she isn't." He said. "She's much stronger than her. That's why you shouldn't -"  
  
"Shouldn't what?" I snapped. Within a blink of an eye, my dusty "soul-mate" was gone. So was the night's sky, the sea, the beach, whole of sodden Italy. For a moment I feared that she was gone too, but then I caught sight of her, huddled in a corner of the bathroom in her own house back in Sunnydale, the mascara lines under her eyes broken and smudged as hot tears rolled down her cheeks.  
  
"You lied to me." She said, her voice breaking. "You said it wouldn't hurt, that I wouldn't feel anything, but I did."  
  
I stepped closer to her, warily, my head light on the thick scent of blood that choked the stagnant air. My fangs were bared, my human features twisted into that of a demon. Somewhere on my right, my eyes caught a glimpse of a pale hand, clutching lifelessly onto the brim of white porcelain. Inside the tub, a body drifted in murky brown water, hair swaying like patches of red seaweed.  
  
Red's eyes were not closed, as I had rather wished them to be, but stared up to the ceiling. Not haunting or judging or revengeful or anything. Just - dead.  
  
"Why does it hurt so much?" She asked, gazing up with tears burning behind those stale blue eyes. "I'm a demon now. Just like you. I shouldn't feel anything when - when -"  
  
I crouched down beside her, wiped tears from her cheeks and placed my forehead on hers. "Shshsh" I kept saying. "Shshsh, it's all right, luv. The pain won't stay. Shshshsh."  
  
" How many are there left?" I asked gently, careful not to startle her.  
  
She blinked away some tears. "I - I think I've killed everyone. Everyone except for - for Dawn. I don't want to kill her. Please don't make me."  
  
I stroked a damp lock away from her eyes, my features shifting back into human again. The corners of my mouth curled into a sad smile.  
  
"I'm sorry, luv. But you have to. It's the only way to make the hurting stop. Let her live, and she will only remind you of the pain. It will drive you mad. You have to finish it."  
  
"Spike, please! I - "  
  
"Kill her, Buffy. Kill her, or I'll turn her."  
  
She chewed on her lower lip, watching me with a fiery hatred burning in her eyes. Gone was the sadness, the fear, and the nagging voice of conscience. All that remained was her rage and bitterness.  
  
"You are a monster, Spike!" She spat. "You tricked me! You've never really loved me, or you wouldn't have done this to me! You knew how it would feel like and still you made me do this! I hate you! I fucking hate you!"  
  
"You need me, luv. You can hate me all you want but the truth is, that you can't go on without me. There no-one left for you but me. You're mine now, Buffy."  
  
"Stop this!" I yelled, screaming inside the tiny bathroom, not to myself or to Buffy, but to that wanker William who had spinelessly kept himself out of this soddin motion picture from hell. "This isn't real!" I raged. "This has never happened!"  
  
"But you wanted this. Deep in your heart you wished she would be yours, joining you in the dark." His voice came out of nowhere, and his enlightened cowardly arse was equally nowhere to be seen. The room was dim now. Nobody was left in here except for me.  
  
"Yes!" I admitted. "I love her. I want her. But not like this! Never like this! I would never hurt her or Nibblet or -"  
  
"You would do as you were taught, Spike. Tell me in all honesty; if her friends and family were all that stood between her and you, wouldn't you like to remove them? Isolate her, make her miserable and lonely, just so you will be able to get to her?"  
  
"I - It wasn't anything like that! I am not - I'm not Angelus!" I spat the words out before I had time to regret them, and still my daft tongue kept rolling. "My peachy Grand Sire, he told me that it was something every fledgling had to do. Remove the traces of my past, cleanse the messy board of my childish attempts to life and more of that buggery nonsense. With all that unresolved rage burning inside of me, it seemed like a good plan at the time." I sucked in a torn breath. Shut my eyes to hide the tears. I'll be bloody damned to let the wussy librarian see me cry again. "He told me, that I wouldn't feel anything. That it wouldn't hurt because the demon was so much stronger than the pain. I went to my uncle's house after I had starved myself for two nights, just to make sure. Bloody massacred them, ended up much in the same spot Buffy was. In the bathroom, huddled away underneath my aunt Dorothy's wash-table with my aunt Dorothy herself floating in the tub. I was so confused, so ashamed because I did feel something. I had felt something break inside. It wasn't supposed to be like that." I fell silent. Bloody tears running out of stubborn eyes. William appeared right out of thin air, just in time to witness my second round of pitiable snivelling. Balls.  
  
"I'm sorry." He said.  
  
I frowned at him, slightly baffled by his response, having expected an tedious lecture about my dubious feelings for Buffy, but receiving his pity instead.  
  
"Don't be." I said, and I meant it. "If there's someone here who should be apologizing it should be me. It was your family that I've murdered, not mine."  
  
Our surroundings changed, it shifted and wobbled like sheets hung out to dry in the wind. The sound of rolling waves came back to us, together with the salty scent of the beach and the feeling of cool pebbles underneath my bare feet.  
  
"You really shouldn't have shown me all this." I muttered. Keeping me eyes from him and down at the pebbles. "It had only made me more afraid to go back, knowing what I could do. I wouldn't be able to look at her without that thought passing my mind."  
  
"Spike, I showed you this because I want you to see that it wouldn't have worked. That it was wrong to love her the way you did. You wanted to drag her into your world, into the darkness, make her into something what she is not because your love-sick brains wished to spot that side in her. To recognize a resemblance to yourself in order to hush that sickening feeling in your stomach, that something as explicitly declared evil as you, could love some-one as pure and good as she is."  
  
"It was so easy to see it." I said softly, bowing my head. "That glitch in her eyes just before she brings out the stake, her moments of contempt and anger. She seems to be able to kill so easily, but she's nothing like me, is she? And she never will be."  
  
"You have to come home, Spike." There was that easy tune of contentment in his words. As if the brawl was all over and done with. All the kittens won and stuffed in his pockets.  
  
"I want to stay here."  
  
He looked really surprised. "You know that nothing here is real. You'll be fooling yourself."  
  
"Then allow me to be once again, a complete clueless dupe. Look, I told you that you shouldn't have shown me all this."  
  
William lifted his spectacles. His nervous twitch kicking in.  
  
"Spike, you don't know what's coming your way if you stay here. I can bloody well tell you that it's not going to be a cosy picnic. It's going to be hell for you."  
  
"Perhaps, but tell me, is there chance in the end? For me to be with her?"  
  
"She isn't the real Buffy."  
  
"Is there a chance?!" I insisted, trying my very best to forget what he had just said to me.  
  
William rolled his eyes and sighed out of sheer desperation. "Yes." He admitted, reluctantly. "Yes there is."  
  
I decided to play it safe before I put my final say in this. I might be a nutter but I still knew how to cover my arse.  
  
"So, I won't stay in the funny-farm forever?"  
  
"What is this? Are you trying to use me as crystal ball to predict your future in this crazy head-trip of yours? I'm sorry for asking you this, considering the circumstances and all, but are you bloody insane?"  
  
"Just answer the question." I said, crossing my arms over my bare chest.  
  
William rolled his eyes again (I wondered if I got that annoying habit from him, that strange spasm in his overused eyeball muscles that got to develop a will on its own). "Oh bloody hell! No you won't. There, happy?"  
  
"Almost." I said, showing the pillock a content smile. "Only one more thing I'd like to ask."  
  
"Spike! Look you're missing the point here! You were supposed to see the wrongs in your previous doings, sink through your knees and have a good howl, ask for forgiveness and pop on my mystical cloud back to good ol' Sunnydale. The real one that is. So if you were so kind and start with the begging for forgiveness part, we're running out of time -"  
  
"Tell me one more thing."  
  
"No! Listen Spike, I won't answer any more of your moronic questions! You're supposed to do the right thing here, and -"  
  
"Will I be able to make her happy?"  
  
He stopped his tedious monologue, and fell into silence for a moment.  
  
"Is that what you most care about, her happiness?"  
  
"Yes." I answered, truthfully. "There is nothing more important in the world to me but to know that she has finally found it, some peace of mind, a moment of bliss. Even if it means that I should stay away from her for the rest of her life."  
  
"So if I told you that you would make her completely miserable if you stayed here as mister William Byron -"  
  
"I would go with you, this instance. Not a second thought wasted."  
  
He averted his eyes from mine for a moment, looking out over the dark folds of the sea. It was still obscured in anticipating darkness, but not much longer as the horizon at the east started to glow. A tired little smile crept up his face.  
  
"But I can't lie to you, can I? And you knew that. You knew that William, the bloody honest soul, had to tell you the truth."  
  
"I only care about her. I didn't try to trick you or anything."  
  
"Very well then." He said, tilting his head to one side and sighing deeply. "She would have been loved, and cared for. She would have found happiness, being with you."  
  
A sigh of relief escaped my throat, and I nodded. "That's all I wanted to know."  
  
"You're making a huge mistake here, Spike. This reality was not supposed to be. They won't allow you to stay here."  
  
"Really?" I snorted. "Thought this was one of those my-choice-only gig. Why so that you've wasted a whole night of making soddin shadow-puppets on persuading me to go back then?"  
  
"I was being polite! Look, there isn't really an option here. I know that God had given just about everyone on this lump of clay free will to chose his own fate, but it's rather contradicting you see. Since there is this little thing called "destiny", which inconveniently also happened to be created by God almighty himself. A bit dubious but hey. God, right? So, in practice, you only have the freedom in choosing whatever is already destined for you to choose. That's how it works. There isn't another way. If you decide to go against the stream, they'll make it so hard on you that in the end, you'll begging on your bare knees to get out of here!"  
  
"Are you threatening me?"  
  
"I'm just begging you to listen for once! What I told you, was what could happen if the divine entities decided to look the other way and let you get away with this which, as I had stated previously, is as likely as you not begin such a strong-headed idiot for a change! It's serious business to mess with God's plans."  
  
"And how's He going to stop me then? Bloody kill me?"  
  
He didn't say a word, just turned his head and stared into the direction of the sea where the first sliver of sun appeared, making a simmering furnace out of a distant cloud.  
  
Panic shot through me that was almost as bright and hot as bloody daylight. "Bleedin hell! Buffy!"  
  
I turned on my heels, sharp edges of stone cutting into my soles. I ran, my legs moving faster with every step. I reached the shoreline and dived into the freezing water, my mind a swirling chaos and already forgetting that this was just a dream inside a dream. Even lesser real than the asylum reality. But it felt awfully real to me.  
  
She had swum out far from the coast, and was on her back, drifting peacefully on the waves. Her head held back and resting on the surface, nodding on its motion. Her hair waving in the dark water like tails of silvery fish.  
  
I swam with raw speed, my arms crawling, legs kicking. I tried to keep my mind clear, but all I could think of was how she had stood there last night, with the scarlet scarf woven around neck and had told me that she was nothing but a ruthless monster, bearing her victim's blood.  
  
"Buffy!" I yelled, hoping, praying that she would hear me. "Get out of there! The sun's coming up!"  
  
She should have heard me. I was already close enough to her to see that she had shut her eyes as if sleeping, but she didn't react, didn't move to swim away. Only folded her hands over her chest. The waves were carrying her, almost lifting her from the surface, and she appeared to be as light and frail as a feather.  
  
"Buffy! Please!"  
  
In reality, the real reality as I now finally had figured out, it had been Dru, who I had tried save from spreading her ashes over the midst of the Mediterranean sea. She went out swimming on one starry night in 1947, and lost track of time, while I had lost track of her after a little messy accident in the village. I only found her back at dawn, when the sun had already started its tracks over the water in which she was bathing. Naked as the day she was born, her slim body drifting on the waves while she was counting the stars that weren't even there anymore by that time. In the real reality, it had ended well for Dru and me. I got her out on time with the wrath of the sun burning on my heels.  
  
However, this time, everything was different.  
  
The beams of sunlight appeared and cut through the shaded sky like butcher- knives. It bounced off the rolling waves, the bright orange disk at the horizon spreading its arms to swallow her in its deadly embrace.  
  
The light reached her faster than I ever could, and I had to watch her burn.  
  
  
  
TBC 


	17. ACT 17: Solace

TITLE: "Normal again" (8/8) part V (Because of length, cut in six? parts.)  
  
AUTHOR: Richard Bachman  
  
EMAIL: bachman_rchard@hotmail.com  
  
SITE: nope  
  
FEEDBACK: Give it to me luv, you know you want more of this.  
  
DISTRIBUTION: Do whatever you like poodle. As long as Richard is mentioned I'm fine.  
  
SUMMARY: based on the episode Normal Again. Instead of Buffy, Spike was poisoned by the demon and his consciousness was transported into an alternative reality where he found himself incarcerated in an asylum.  
  
THANK YOU: For your patience, your support and your comments on the story.  
  
ACT 8: Solace  
  
SCENE 12  
  
The corridor was filled with loud, hectic voices, and Buffy found herself rushing, her feet automatically bringing her back to the seclusion room where she had left him last night. She found Mike standing there in front of the doorway. His massive body barricading any possible escape routes. From inside the padded cell she could hear William scream.  
  
"Buffy! Where is Buffy?" He sounded scared, lost.  
  
"Dr Summers is not in yet. She'll come to see you as soon as she's here."  
  
"She promised to be here! She's not here. She promised - she promised me. She's not here. Not here."  
  
"Will, calm down!"  
  
Her feet felt heavy, like there were pebbles in her shoes, as she walked into the tiny room. William was no more but a small curled up form, arms wrapped over his head, his face hidden between pulled up knees. The colourless hospital garb he wore seemed far too big for him.  
  
"I'm here, William." She said in a gentle voice.  
  
The confused young man looked up, his cheeks wet with tears. As he caught sight of her, his restless blues caught a spark of light, and his cracked lips mouthed her name in a soft sigh.  
  
She knelt down before him, her hand gently caressing the damp curls of ruffled hair.  
  
"I thought you were gone."  
  
"No silly." She smiled, distressed by his neediness. "I had to go home to recharge the batteries. But I'm back now. As promised."  
  
"I thought - I watched you die. I killed you."  
  
For a short moment she didn't know how to react, his odd and sudden assertion frightening her, though she could never imagine him capable of doing her any harm. Nevertheless, she shot a short glance over her shoulder to Mike, to see if the sturdy orderly was still around.  
  
"It's all right." He nodded, trying to calm her. " I think it was only a dream. Or a vision. Hard to tell. He wasn't very clear."  
  
William gazed at the other side of the room. There was someone there who was demanding his attention.  
  
"Yeah, that's you. How come you're still around then? Told you I'm gonna stay. Don't you have any bad poetry to write, you nonce?"  
  
"Will." She tried, her voice rasping like dry paper. "Who are you talking to?"  
  
"To him." And he nodded his head in his invisible companion's direction. "Will Byron, the righteous soul? You should meet him, a real spineless git he is! Talks of guilt and sin and seeking penitence, embrace the bleedin light of his allmighty God and more of that rubbish." He mocked, hot anger gripping his voice. "You're full of it! If that God of yours is so Goodie Good, why did he let her die then? He's a bloody murderer, that's what he is! Stupid old goat, two-faced Janus, pretentious pimp who wants to whore me to his great big plans! I HATE Him! I bloody HATE Him!!!" His fist lashed out and struck himself on the cheek, and Buffy heard the crunch of knuckles bruising bone.  
  
"Mike! Get in here!"  
  
William kept hitting himself. His cheeks turned crimson while he kept muttering his string of words fed on his anger and self-loathing.  
  
"I HATE Him! He killed you Buffy! I killed you! I hate him. And you - You can stick your soddin redemption up your soddin arse!! It's all over, you hear me?!! No more funny head-trips, no more crazy Spike! I'm through with being a bloody string-puppet! Never needed Him. Never needed anyone!"  
  
He barely fought them back when harsh hands pushed him face down on the padding, his nose and mouth digging deep into the dust coloured cloth till he could hardly breathe. It didn't matter. They could do whatever they liked to him and he would endure it without so much as a whine. It wouldn't last, he knew. This world of barred windows and cramped up white walled spaces wasn't going to be his home for the rest of his life. His eyes kept staring up at her as he was down there on the floor, observing anxiousness drawing deep lines in her pretty face. It made his heart squirm. She didn't know it yet, of course. Didn't know that everything he had to suffer was well worth suffering for because of her. She didn't know, that he was now as sensible as a piece of toast and a cuppa thee in the morning and that had made his choice.  
  
He was going to stay here, with her, at all costs. Even if it meant he had to go through hell itself.  
  
"He told me that I was going to make you happy." He mumbled, giving her a boyish, shy smile. He uttered a soft whimper when the thin needle entered his arm and spread the familiar numbness over his body, but apart from that, he kept smiling at her, hardly blinking his eyes, afraid to fall asleep too quickly.  
  
"You shouldn't listen to those voices." She managed to say, the words choking her. "They're making you crazy."  
  
"Oh no! I'm sane now, Buffy." His tongue felt heavy. As did his head. So incredibly heavy, that he had to lie down and rest. "I figured it out. Really, I did. I'm a demon. A soulless monster. But I love you and I'll be good. I'll make you so happy Buffy! For You, I want to forget who I was. I want to be Will Byron."  
  
Buffy put his head against her chest, cradling him as though he was a small child. She could feel the drumming of his heart against her own, though his was slowing down by the drugs and hers was still as fast-paced as that of a frightened rabbit. She couldn't think of anything to say to him, her heart saddened by the condition he was in. Months of pain striking efforts to built up his sanity, to help him to recover from his illness, only to see him relapse into a state of delusion that was even worse than anything she had seen on him before. She wished she could make him stop referring to himself as a soulless, evil thing, but her wits left her completely blank.  
  
"Shshshsh." She finally hushed, pushing her lips against his ears. "Shshshshsh. Don't say a word. It will be all right, Will. It will be all right. I promise.  
  
I'll never let anybody hurt you again."  
  
  
  
SCENE 13  
  
London nights were chilly in November, with pools of mud and dung turning into icy surfaces and the maze of back-street alleys around the Seven Dials becoming covered by a layer of brittle frost. The whores were out in spite of the freezing cold, showing pale skin underneath their colourful high-cut dresses, their tits spilling over the fabric like milk over a rim. Thieves were out too, so were the bully-men, throatcutters, gamblers, cullies and boozers*. There was plenty of violence; a drunken gentleman got robbed from his purse and got a knife thrust in his great fat belly, while somewhere away from the scarce pools of gasoline streetlights, a bully-man cut off a disobedient girl's nose as a punishment. With such a hideous deformity ruining the merchandise, she would starve on the streets the coming winter.  
  
There were other things, dark things that called these shady alleys their home and had made it into their hunting ground. But even they were the lowest of the low, scavenging rats compared to the sophistication of the greater evil (Evil with a capital E, I supposed) living their endless existence in the better parts of town.  
  
It was scum feeding on scum in here. In the West End, the civilized codes of the Victorian era had never reached the poor and life was much the same as it was a hundred years ago.  
  
It was still every man for him-self.  
  
I clutched on to my last bottle of gin like it was a dying thing. Scuttling through the filthy alleys in a hasty pace, hardly able to feel my feet. I'd figured that they had turned into clumps of ice by now. My clothes were too tattered, with holes showing skin and letting in the bloody cold. I had nicked a blanket from a dead beggar frozen stiff in an alley at the back of St. Paul, but still, without regular feeding, my body felt like ice with only the occasional gulp of gin warming my stomach. The booze helped. My mind was pleasantly dazed with less pleasant memories fading like the letters on yellowing newspaper. Who said I gave a bloody shag about them? Who said I needed anyone to survive? I was my own man now, I was. With the liberty to starve and freeze off my skinny dead arse out on the open streets as I wished.  
  
Who said I gave a lousy penny about myself anyway?  
  
Dawn was bound in one-hour time. I needed to find a shelter for the day.  
  
I turned in and out of alleys, my feet dragging me in wide circles through a maze of stinking poverty. Cramped rooms with ridiculously large families, already up before dawn to make ready for a long day of slaving for the reward of a lousy shilling in the evening. Brats with rags covering their shivering bodies compared to which my ripe outfit seemed luxurious. Adults who were no more but skins on bones, the men red-eyed and covered in masks of sooth, the women worn like old shoes of giving child -birth and hard labour with sunken cheeks the colour of ashes. One look at them, and I had lost my soddin appetite. Not that I had any these days, unless you counted my recent stormy love affaire with Lady Gin, that was. That cheap devilish whore was difficult to let go.  
  
No vacant dwellings or empty rooms where I didn't need an invitation to get in. Another half an hour was easily wasted. I was tempted, my stomach growling, to make one of those wretched families invite me in, but I hadn't had the taste of human blood in my mouth for weeks and I was afraid that it would still make me sick to my stomach.  
  
Finally, I found a cellar that seemed abandoned. The narrow window was covered by a panel of rotting wood, easily disposed. I crawled inside, letting myself drop on the dirt floor like a sack of coal. Sleep came immediately, and was, for the first time since days, blissfully dreamless.  
  
I woke up with a heavy weight pressing on my chest, the green bottle of gin rolled away from my hand, which was frozen so solid that it hurt as hell only trying to wriggle my bloody fingers. I blinked my eyes sheepishly, just when a dollop of spit came down on my cheek. The sack of anvils on my chest was a muddy leather boot to which a tall man was attached. His yellow eyes jumped out of the dim shadows. Another fellow demon, oh that's just great, such a lucky chap I was!  
  
"Oi! Get up ye stray-dog! Or do I have to teach ye how?"  
  
I staggered up, wiping the disgusting muck off my face with a dirty sleeve and probably smearing dirt all over myself. My mind raced, it was a good thing that I was already dead or my heart would have leapt straight out of my rib-barrel. There were vamps all around me, clothed in brownish poormen's rags like mine but without the crust of mud and gaping holes in the cheap cloth to make them look like desperate beggars. Most of them hunched down in the dark corners of the cellar, watching me with far too much interest than that it could ever be considered healthy for a half year old fledgling like myself, and I shuddered.  
  
"I - I am terribly sorry. I didn't know this place was already taken." I muttered, eying at the wanker from underneath my lashes, my head bowed. So far, I had only met one or three of my kind apart from my Sire's twisted little family, and I wasn't sure how to behave towards them. The Poof claimed that he had taught me about everything I needed to know to keep myself out of trouble. Yeah, right, the Great Angelus Education was a bit lacking when it came to the codes of conducts towards other demons if you asked me.  
  
He grinned at me, white fangs glittering between rows of brown rotting teeth. One of the lurkers gave me a long hard stare, clutching a fag between his dirty fingers while blowing rings of smoke through his nostrils.  
  
"I know that skinny thing." The fag-blower barked. "He's one of Angelus' clan. Aren't you, boy?"  
  
I kept my gob shut, not knowing what to expect if I told them that he was right. One of the three I had ever met. Just my bloody luck.  
  
"Did you got tossed out? Angered the crazy old goat or one of his misses? It's that why you're strolling the streets and smell like you've been eating horse dung?"  
  
"Talking to ye lad! Don't play dumb with us!"  
  
A punch in my stomach, hard enough to knock the air out of my dead lungs, was more than sufficient to persuade me that I better spill the beans if I wanted to keep most of my flesh further agony-free.  
  
"Yeah, and what's to it if I was?" I asked, stupid anger making me act all bold and fearless, while I was actually crapping myself.  
  
The disgusting toothy grin on leather-boots' face widened. "Fierce one. Cocky too. Must have learned a thing or two from the Grand Pillock himself." He turned to the others, his face half hidden by shadows, and snapped his fingers. Four of them appeared, coming toward me. I staggered back, tripping over something in the darkness. It was the body of a girl, drained from every drop of blood, her skin felt like ice and her brittle dress cracked underneath my weight. I struggled back up and tried to fight them off.  
  
"Get away from me you cocksucking git! You ugly tossers!  
  
A punch on my jaw that made the room burn in fiery colours. The crunch of splitting bones followed by the rich taste of blood on my tongue. Not exactly the kind of blood I longed to taste, but I swallowed it down hungrily nonetheless, such a disgusting, hopeless thing I was.  
  
Another blow that creaked my ribs, and I became silent without even so much as a whimper. They dragged me to the demon with the serious dental problems and tossed me in front of his boots. I kept my head to the ground, spitting out a wasted tooth.  
  
He knelt down beside me. His breath smelled like the poorpits in the London graveyards during high summer, and I had trouble keeping myself from puking my guts out. I wished the wanker could keep all the "evil" self-involved jabbering to himself. We both knew what was coming. I was going to get hurt and he was gonna have a jolly good time making it hurt. So, what was new then?  
  
"Nice." He breathed, tearing my tattered shirt, running callused fingers over my dirt-covered neck. I hadn't had a bath in weeks. I was filthy with sunken cheeks and hollow eyes, skinny as a dried corpse. Surely he wouldn't be interested? I can't imagine anybody nutters enough to want to enter a body like mine. A heap of dead flesh, covered by bits of broken skin.  
  
He lowered his head, greasy strings of hair brushed over my bare back, and I was slightly aware that it tickled like Dru's gentle fingertip touches. Whatever you do, don't start sobbing like a bloody nonce, I thought. And keep your gob shut, even if you have to bite off your tongue to do so. Just think of Dru. Shut out the rest. That way, you would be able to take it.  
  
Corpse-breath surprised me. Or maybe he didn't, really. He wasn't interested in shagging my dead cadaver after all. Didn't thought of this to be possible because I was sure that I had nothing else worth to take. But I had. And I didn't realize it until the very moment he sunk his pearly whites into my neck and ripped a hole in there the size of a shilling. You see, Dru's blood came from Angelus who became of Darla who was the throat- ripping favourite of the Master. The long linage of the insane Aurelius clan, its pure and wholesome blood as precious and as much priced as bloody oranges in December.  
  
They drained me, hungry wolves licking blood from the smaller wounds on my legs, my thighs, my arms, my chest. One really sick pervert bit me in the tip of my limp cock, and suckled on it till it rose, making it ache and throb at the same time. A girl with wild manes of flaming red hair stuck her tongue in my mouth and scraped her black nails over my genitals till they wept blood. I took all of this in silence, too weakened now to even cry. My body was a cold statue, only moved when it was dragged, handed over from one hungry mouth to the next like a piece of mouldy bread amongst the starved.  
  
It baffled my mind afterwards, but they let me live and even let me stay in their shelter till twilight. After that, they threw me on the streets and warned me never to come back if I didn't want to have my legs cut off and be kept by them as a barrel of easy blood. It sounded fair enough to me. The fag-blower needed one last laugh and took my tattered shoes away. There was a large hole in the right one that let the cold and the damp in, but I really did miss them once I stepped outside barefooted on the frozen cobbles.  
  
Swaying like a drunk from blood-loss, I moved away from their scornful laughter and out of the reach of their sharp stones. My feet carried me reluctantly while I left a track of blood behind that excited stray dogs, and I got chased by a pack of hungry mutts till a couple of humans took pity and bashed them away from me with shovels.  
  
"Are you all right, lad?" One of the two men asked, his face black of sooth. A coalman, busy shoving the dark lumps down a pipe into a rich wanker's cellar. His large black hand shook my shoulder as if he wanted to make sure that I was still alive. I stared at the tiny silver cross dangling around his thick neck, the only thing on him that wasn't covered in dirt.  
  
"No." I sobbed, softly. Not quite myself. "Not all right. Never gonna be all right. Never again."  
  
The large man shook his head. "You need help. Go to the St. Giles cathedral. Find a shelter for the night. You're skin on bones and bleeding. I'll take you there myself if you can wait."  
  
I didn't want to go to any church. Never entered one since I was turned. I was pretty sure churches were a big no-no for the likes of me. Vampire, right? Dedicating his wretched un-life to the wrong side. For as much as I knew, I could be set on fire like I was taking a stroll in the sun as soon as I entered The House of God. However, that notion didn't startle me as much as it should, and I was too much in need to refuse the man's kindness. The coalman helped me in the back of his cart and covered my shivering form with a emptied bag, since I had lost my blanket somewhere out there on the muddy streets. Rough cloth with black stains scraped over my wounds, but still I was grateful.  
  
As the cart started to move, I sat very still between the sacks of coal, pretending to be one myself with my bony knees drawn up and pressing against my sunken belly. Just a lump of dirt, cold and unfeeling. Nothing could harm me now.  
  
They brought me to the gates of the cathedral, where a friendly priest helped me inside, his hands burning hot on my frosted skin. A rosary hung from his wrinkled neck. The sight of the small wooden crucifix dangling from the strand made me wonder how much it would hurt if I pressed it on my flesh. Would it make me smoke like a ham on glowing cinder? Or would I just burn, like ordinary criminals did at the stakes?  
  
I swallowed and held my breath as we crossed the threshold and entered the St. Giles, expecting to be punished for my sins with the wrath of God shattering my bones and scorching my flesh, but nothing happened. No thunder, no storm, no rage of the righteous raining burning ashes down on me from the skies. Just rows of neatly ordered pews and marble pillars. Just the familiar stagnant air, faintly smelling of mould. Just miserable little ol' me, still very un-alive and shaking on my legs, prone to lose consciousness any minute.  
  
"Were you lost, my son?" The priest asked, gently. Observing my shock and misery in general.  
  
I wanted to tell him to go sod off, that there wasn't a reason to pretend to be good and virtuous anymore because obviously, God was sodden blind. He had let me in! Me, this lowest of creatures, this filthy evil thing that had murdered so many and probably was going to kill more if I wasn't getting dusted on time! I wanted to say that there was no justice in this world, no reward to kindness and bare my fangs to rip out his throat, just to show him that I was right. Stab the mercy out of his bloody eyes. Tear his kind heart from his potbellied body and toss it on the ground right before his feet. THAT, was what his sodden righteousness was worth to me.  
  
But instead, I broke down in tears and nodded warily, my body shaking. He took me in his arms and let me cry on his shoulders, and I wept till dark stains the size of cauliflowers ruined his robe, carefull not to touch the crucifix resting on his chest.  
  
"God knows forgiveness like no other." He said. "All you have to do is open your heart to accept it, my child."  
  
I had no soddin clue what came over me then, but all I could do was cry that it was bloody well too late for me now to regret anything. That it was done.  
  
I was sure to rot in hell.  
  
  
  
SCENE 14  
  
She didn't know what to think of this, but it wasn't catatonia, yet. His eyes were still opened, but that didn't mean anything. He had that far away gaze on him that didn't predict much good. When she talked to him, asked him a question, he would just smile to her and repeat the words she had used to comfort him this morning.  
  
"Shshsh." He would whisper. "I'm all right. Everything's going to be all right. London is far away. Long ago. I'm not really there, am I?"  
  
"No Will. You're here in the clinic. You're taken good care of."  
  
"Shshsh" Putting a finger on his lips. "No need to disturb anyone. Sleeping dogs and such. It's all right, Buffy. Let me deal with them. It will be over soon."  
  
"Okay Will." She said, her voice breaking. "I'll wait for you to come back."  
  
"Please come back."  
  
  
  
SCENE 15  
  
The angry mob passing down Russel Street had a devastating energy. It was like a roaring beast of destruction, smashing windows, breaking doors, looting shops. Thousands of angry voices shouted as one, the unison of their words bringing goose-bumps to my skin. With white knuckled fists and the same anger rising in my voice, I walked with the crazy horde. Men and women slapping me on my back comradely, slinging arms over shoulders. I was sure that most of them were as drunk as a vicar on Sunday. It didn't matter to me what message they tried to deliver, what cause it was that they fought. I walked in any riot, whether it consisted of angry factory workers calling for a six pence raise, or the desperate poor demonstrating against the price of bread.  
  
"Two pence more for daily bread, means thousands more, starved to death!"  
  
They had very cunning cat-phrases, you have to give them that, the bloody simpletons.  
  
I was a stranger now to most of the human emotions, as I should be. Kindness was something that couldn't be found anywhere in my dictionary, as was the word gratitude. After my wounds were healed, I left St. Giles without so much as leaving a note to thank the priest, who had so painstakingly nursed me back to good health (I had a good suspicion that he knew what I was, as he kept the curtains of my bedroom closed without me having to ask and brought me broths so thick with pig's blood that it would make any normal bloke have the pukers.) but I was stacked with a sack full of church silver, that I had pawned immediately for booze and blood. Just a lesson for him to be learned, so he would never think of taking someone with the likes of me in again. I mean, yeah, I took the Old Man's silver, but do you think the next vamp-in-need would be satisfied with taking only that then?  
  
The point was that I walked with the crowds because their anger was something that I could identify with. The itching force buzzing close underneath the skin. The desire to wreck havoc, to smash and mutilate. The general feeling that WE were wronged and someone else had to pay. It made feel alive again. It made me feel that I was part of something, however bloody stupid.  
  
Besides, I had nothing better to do but to get myself pissed and sheltered before sunrise anyway.  
  
The coppers were not idiots. They knew better than to mess with a crowd of thousands, but the real trouble started when the whole soddin war-fleet had to squeeze its way through the narrow passage of Princes Street, and our group got isolated. Now, forty men and women with starved postures and weakened strength and one pretty pissed vampire, that was a company the coppers could take.  
  
I fought like a maniac, cracking one officer's skull with a heavy brick and whacking several others on their limps with a lead pipe that I had brought with me to the demonstration in case there was a mighty good brawl coming up. Not caring who I was hitting really, and I whacked a fellow rioter full in the face by accident, breaking his nose.  
  
"What are you doing you crazy bastard? You're supposed to hit them, not us!"  
  
"Oh, is that right?"  
  
I smashed the pipe on his kneecaps, and he went down, screaming and cursing.  
  
I still had time to have a good laugh about it, before what seemed the whole remaining team of bloody rioters came flying around my neck. Useless to say that even with the advantage of my vampire strength, I was no match for them all and was destined to be smashed into vamp-powder, but the coppers were fast, and clubbed down most of them, or made them too busy with running away to keep themselves occupied with me. Just as I started to lose the feeling in my limps, the rain of angry fists and feet ceased and I got pulled up by two officers. My brains hopped like soddin Moris dancers in my skull as I raised my head to look at them.  
  
"Can you walk?" One of the coppers asked.  
  
"Yeah, I think sslo. If I musst." I slurred, my lips cut and swollen like burst cherries.  
  
"Good." And his club exploded on the back of my head, sending a bright pain into my skull that shattered like crows from a field. I fell with my face down in the mud, barely aware that they were tying my hands together with a rough rope.  
  
"Drag him up the cart!" Barked the officer. As I brushed by, I eyed him briefly, and saw him nursing the wound on his forehead with a reddened handkerchief. No wonder he was so crossed.  
  
The cart was a filthy wooden cage on wheels packed with arrested rioters. Most of them were terrified, wore their fear like a thick cloud of stench, forgetting all about their pigheaded anger and bitter resentment that had made me give them at least a thimble full of respect before, but now they earned nothing but my deepest loathing. The coppers tossed me right into the pile of human misery, and I landed between a frail woman with white- rimmed eyes and wild windswept hair and a heavy, sweaty pillock, wetting himself like the oversized baby of a French trollop.  
  
"We're dead!" He whined, sending much dreaded pain waves into my skull. The bloody lump at the back of my head throbbed like a second heart, an alive one that was. "They're gonna lock us up in the Tower! We sure to get the noose for this!"  
  
"That, or all of you wankerlsss die of gaol fever in there." I muttered, blinking blood out my eyes. The giant toddler just glared at me, and didn't dare as much as move a finger. Just as I thought, not enough balls to be a man. How pathetic.  
  
I crawled to the back, pressed my face against the cool bars, and watched how outside the sky of London glowed like cinder, rampant fires filling the air with the smell of burning ashes. I didn't care much if the Tower was the place that I was going too. From the stories I had heard about it, the place was dark, and dank, and bloody awful. Pretty much like my average hideout, really. I had run out of my last penny for days now, had to catch strays and rats to keep myself fed. Did try to rob humans once by frightening the living daylight out of them, but I ended up getting chased by an angry crowd with burning crosses and garlands of garlic. People did get awfully smart these days.  
  
The worst thing was, that even after two long months, I still couldn't take a drop of human blood in me without gagging like a sissy sipping on his first drag of Whiskey.  
  
Face it Will, you're screwed. I thought bitterly. You can't go back, and you can't on like this either. What use will it do to struggle on? To tempt fate? Better surrender here and now and wave with the white hankie before God or Lucifer or whoever was up and down there decide to drop the big heavy curtains on you. And if they want to hang me for ruining one of the coppers' stunning features - well, I will be let off easy considered all the harm I've done, now won't I?  
  
  
  
TBC  
  
Next part will be published coming Wednesday.  
  
A couple of strange British words here that need a bit an explanation;  
  
Cullies: guys who seek out the ladies and pay them after fornication. In Dutch we call them "hoerenlopers". Can't find a proper English translation for this word in my dictionary though. Funny innit?  
  
Bully-man: That I -could - find in my dictionary, it simply means pimp.  
  
Cheers Richard 


	18. ACT 18: Solace part II

TITLE: "Normal again" (8/8) part Vb (Because of length, cut in six? parts.)  
  
AUTHOR: Richard Bachman  
  
EMAIL: bachman_rchard@hotmail.com  
  
SITE: nope  
  
FEEDBACK: Give it to me luv, you know you want more of this.  
  
DISTRIBUTION: Do whatever you like poodle. As long as Richard is mentioned I'm fine.  
  
SUMMARY: based on the episode Normal Again. Instead of Buffy, Spike was poisoned by the demon and his consciousness was transported into an alternative reality where he found himself incarcerated in an asylum.  
  
THANK YOU: For your patience, your support and your comments on the story.  
  
ACT 8: Solace (part 2)  
  
  
  
SCENE 16  
  
"You should keep him here. It would be better considered the instable state he's in."  
  
Giles watched thoughtfully how his pupil helped their patient off the spot where he had been sitting for the last five hours; wide eyed, not moving, hardly blinking, with only his soft, incoherent mumblings assuring them that he wasn't completely gone already. With Mike's help, she moved William into a wheelchair.  
  
"I want to bring him back to his own room." Buffy said, her eyes restless. "He might snap out of it if he can see something familiar to attract his attention. This room is too bare. There's not even a window in here."  
  
"I don't think the accommodation has anything to do with his relapse." Giles opted, trying to sound gentle. "Neither will it help to move him around the entire institute. He's not a withered plant who needs a good spot in the sun to get better!" He lifted his glasses and swallowed uneasily, when he saw how she furrowed her brows in dismay. "Perhaps the last comparison was rather inconsiderate of me, but surely you do see my point in -"  
  
"I'm getting him out of this room, Giles." She turned the wheelchair around, letting William face the door. "With or without your permission."  
  
"Buffy." Giles' hands reached out and grabbed hold of the arms, leaning on the chair with his whole tall weight. "You shouldn't do this. It's not wise. William has attacked someone only yesterday. He had threatened to kill his own brother! It would be better to keep him in isolation."  
  
"It wasn't his fault! Something happened to him. Something awful to make him act -" She wanted to tell him, but then calmed down and managed to swallow her words. This wasn't the right time. She still needed to speak to Liam first. Perhaps, after the dreaded confrontation with the older sibling was over, she could inform Giles, bring it to him tactfully. She sighed and gazed up to her mentor. "He shouldn't be punished. He should get help. You of all people have to understand. You were the one who taught me this."  
  
There was a slight furrow in the doctor's brows when she so shamelessly pleaded on his decency and good heart. It was true, he knew. All she did, the way she acted, was the result of his teachings, that a patient should always be treated with compassion and kindness, however disturbed their actions were, since only their illness could be held truly responsible for their wrongs. Buffy had been a good student. "All right." He sighed, and pinched his nose-bridge for felt a mild headache coming up. "But keep his room locked until we're sure he's no danger to the other patients. I don't want that Walsh woman's predictions to turn out right, for God's sake."  
  
  
  
SCENE 17  
  
Bloody hell, how did I get myself into this bleedin mess? And when did I start caring again? Wasn't I all over that whole keeping myself alive obsession months ago?  
  
The Tower lived up to his infamous reputations. To only describe it as dank and dark and bloody awful was just a horrible understatement. The gaols were large and depleted of any windows, which meant no daylight, only the dim glow provided by oil-lamps. I didn't really mind that of course, but there was also no fresh air, which did bother me since the cell I was in smelled like the stables, with the stench of sweat and human waste so thick that you cut it with a knife. The place was cramped with frightened prisoners, huddled together like bruised fruit. The floors were bare, there wasn't even straw there to provide at least a bit of comfort or warmth. Some of us were chained up. Hands cuffed and tied by manacles, a collar of rusty metal leaving a red inflamed mark running across the neck. Only the real troublemakers were dealt with in such a manner, and I myself earned this special treat after I tried to shove my dinner-plate right into one of the gaolers' skull. He didn't die of his injuries, rather unfortunately, and I ended up getting beaten into a bag of purple bruises and splintered bones by him and his happy mates. They left me afterwards, dangling in half upright position with my rags dripping blood.  
  
The problem with getting chained up and being chastised was that they expected you to die of neglect afterwards. They didn't feed you. Didn't bring you a drop of water to drink, and most of the wretched prisoners who were in the same peril as I was had to lick the brown drops of damp off the mouldy walls to quench their thirst. Off course they did die eventually. All of them did, of starvation or illness or by hanging themselves on their chains in desperate misery. All of them died, except for me. As a presumably immortal vampire, I only became weak (or weaker) till I could hardly lift an eyebrow without passing out. The thirst for blood had finally become something overwhelming, a huge hunger that clutched into my intestines like a vindictive claw-thing. Gone was my detest for human blood, all that I could think of was a good gulp of that crimson goodness, running smoothly down my throat to put the rampant grumble in my stomach at ease. I tell you, I was bloody well cured! If only it could have happened to me earlier, before I got myself into this mess and became too pathetic to do something about my renewed blood-thirst.  
  
After a while, as with most of the starving humans, the hunger became less and less with the passing of weeks. I no longer tried to get a sip out of the free roaming prisons who were constantly prancing in front of me like a tasty, maddening herd of docile life-stock, always an inch or a feet too far away and with my cursed body too slow to pull them nearer if they did make the mistake to come within my reach. I was a constant drooling loon. By the time I was in there for a month, the hunger died a silent death and I just sat there on the dirt covered floor, my numb arms dangling somewhere above my shoulders, not even able to prevent the needy tossers from snatching the last threads of clothing right off my pitiable form. I lost my shirt to a crazy old hag with a one-toothed grin who tore it to pieces and wrapped it around her feet. My shoes were the next things to go and one day (or night, there was no certain way to tell in here) I woke up from a feverish slumber only to find greedy hands pulling on my soddin trousers. After that was gone too, most of the prisoners lost interest in me and just left me alone, even if I did occasionally burst into a mad kind of laughter or drowned myself in hysterical tears. You learned to ignore naked crazy folk in here. Surrounded by them, you see. Couldn't afford to be too distracted all the time.  
  
It had never occurred to me before that death could be such an agonizing, horribly slow process.  
  
It must have been somewhere in March or early April, for the cold had finally become bearable and I started to forget that my body was bare and freezing. I had seen her before. Things happened in the dark after the lights went out. She moved through the field of sleeping bodies, showing a type of grace and speed in her movements that I recognized. Bending over the ones who were dying already of illness, or were outcasts, not much cared for if they were gone the next morning. Or she kept herself to the ones who were chained. One night, when it was still very cold and the stones of the walls stuck like clumps of ice into my back, she had walked over to me, her dirty brown dress shifting and touching my bony knees as she knelt down and studied me, as I was some-kind of waxed body in a museum. She had a fair face with large, coal-black eyes, long brown locks kept in an untidy hair-knot. Both her mouth and tongue were tainted deep harlot red, with a thin line of crimson spilling down her chin. I didn't move or talk to her, and she went away after a while as I had hoped she would. Didn't came anywhere near me again till that moment in early in spring.  
  
It had rained so hard that the water seeped into the creaks of the ceiling and ran down in murky streams along the walls. I hadn't felt water on my skin for months and the mud and dirt had crusted on to me like a heavy shield. I caught myself laughing hoarsely like a lunatic and sticking out my tongue to catch the drops. It wouldn't do me any good. I was not dying of this kind of thirst here, but for a moment it was so thrilled that there was a shower inside this wretched place! If only I could see the stars and a slice of moon as well.  
  
If only. Yeah, when pigs soar through the sky.  
  
"I though that you were just too weak to move, but you have really lost your wits, haven't you, luv?"  
  
I blinked drops of water out of my eyes, letting them glide off my cheeks like tears. There she stood in front of me, her brown dress slightly filthier than I remembered. Perhaps there were a couple more of brown stains there. Her pale hands held a mouldy blanket above her head to shield herself from the dripping roof.  
  
"That isn't blood, luv. It's only water. Very filthy water. Even the mutts in the ditch won't give it a try."  
  
I tried to back away from her, hide from her by turning myself to face the walls. Why was she talking to me? Didn't she know she was supposed to ignore me, pretend that I wasn't even there?  
  
"Hey, don't shy away like that, dear heart. Just trying to help."  
  
I wished she would stop giving me cuddly nicknames.  
  
"Don't help." I uttered, my voice hoarse of disuse. It was strange to hear myself speak again. I mean, really speak. In a proper language instead of that gibbering pixies -tongue that I had mumbled for months. "Don't need any."  
  
"I see." She nodded in what I hoped to be an understanding way. Surely she would go away now? But instead, she eyed me up and down. "So this is what? Some act of penance?"  
  
I gave her a puzzled look. "Penance?" I repeated daftly.  
  
"Like the batty martyrs and Saints. Though unlike you, getting pardon for their short list of dull sins must be a doddle. So, are you lost then? Did you see God? Or only one of those vague hovering angel figures?"  
  
"D-doddle?"  
  
"Let me guess. You saw some shapeless heap of light and feathers and turned into this sad wreck of shivering demon in an instance. Am I right or just a bit hasty here with drawing conclusions?"  
  
"Feathers?"  
  
She sighed, rolling up her eyes to observe the dirty blanket. "Look dearie, I'm not trying to have a nice monologue with myself here. Perhaps you did forget how a normal conversation goes. Let me remind you; you were supposed to talk and not just repeat after me like some sort of very selective echo."  
  
"I - I do know how to talk."  
  
"Splendid! So I didn't stumble upon a caveman version of a blood-feeder after all."  
  
"Noting like that."  
  
"What's not so, pet?"  
  
"Wasn't paying penance. I just - I got sick."  
  
"Sick of what? Immortality? Dignity perhaps? Or was it your liberty you got tired of?"  
  
"I - I got sick, of -of feeding." I stuttered, licking my crusted lips. They tasted like dust. "And don't mock me."  
  
I expected her to turn away from me and laugh at my frailty, but she did none of that.  
  
"Explain. I'm confused here. You did say you were not trying to redeem yourself."  
  
"No I'm not. I just couldn't stand the smell of human blood for a while- I mean, I couldn't kill - It hurt when I did. "  
  
"Uhuh" She nodded. "Sounds like guilt to me. That's how it starts, right before the real idiots grab their little whips and burning crosses and begin maiming themselves in name of their Almighty God. "  
  
"I didn't do this to myself! I was thrown in here! Got nothing to do with God or feathers or anything-else." I furrowed my brows, serious as I was.  
  
"Well there must be something wrong with you. You're a vampire! Feeding off humans is your sole purpose of existence! Or there must a be good reason to make it so hard on yourself." She took a deep unnecessary breath to calm down a bit. Old habits of the living died with difficulty. "So tell me, what happened then?"  
  
I swallowed. The drops of water rolling into my mouth tasted like rusty iron. "A clean slate. I wanted to have clean slate."  
  
"Picture me confused again, dearie." She said, a bit agitated. Why was she wasting her time with me? There was no use in any of this.  
  
"I needed to forget who I was." I tried to explain. "Angelus told me so. It was something every fledgling had to do. So I - I became - a murderer."  
  
She didn't say a thing for a while. Just stared at me and raised a curious brow. Then, as if the ice was suddenly broken and a crack of insanity had hit her, she burst into a loud scornful laughter that sent me huddling against the wall in fright.  
  
"You -" She managed to say, her words choking in hilarity. "You ended up like this? All because you were feeling guilty for killing your human family?! For the sake of all the bonfires in hell! You really are a special case, William. Batty as a loon, but so very amusing! A real challenge one might say."  
  
"Go away." I whispered, frightened and angered by her sudden change from the deepest of sympathy into full ridicule.  
  
"Oh, I'm sorry!" She said, wiping tears away from her eyes, a huge grin on her harlot lips. "I'm so very sorry. Inconsiderate of me of course. But still, it's so funny! Think about it! A vampire without a soul but with the burden of a conscience? What will the Old Goat come up with next? A charitable stasher? A virtuous whore? A vampire with a soul? Now that would be interesting."  
  
"Please. Go away."  
  
"I won't. I told you I was here to help, sweetcheeks. And that's what I'm gonna do."  
  
I wanted to tell her that laughing at me wasn't exactly helpful, but before I could utter a word, she grabbed a prisoner who was sleeping nearby by the throat and broke his neck with a clean snap. As the body sank limp as a puppet on the wide skirt of her dress, she gazed up at me from underneath lazy lashes and showed a wicked grin. She laid out the dead man before my filthy feet, draping his hands over his chest as if he was resting in his coffin instead of on the bare floor of a prison. Her hands made an inviting gesture as to say that dinner was served, but I just stayed still and glared at the body, my stomach filled with cold pebbles and my mind blank.  
  
"You must eat, dear boy. You're skin on bones."  
  
I shook my head at her. "I'm not hungry anymore."  
  
She grabbed the dead prisoner and bended him so that his neck became exposed. Then she pushed his throat between my lips, and I could feel the warmth of his flesh burning hot against my teeth and the smell of his blood came to me like an intoxication.  
  
"You're still hungry. Trust me on that, luv. Take a sip and see. A lion doesn't need the devil to teach him what to eat."  
  
  
  
SCENE 18  
  
"What's wrong with him?" Glen asked. He was standing in the doorway of Will's bedroom, his floppy features perhaps bearing more wrinkles than usual. "Is he all right?"  
  
"He's fine. He will be. He suffered a breakdown yesterday." Buffy muttered, tucking William in with a warm blanket. She was worried. His hands were terribly cold and she wasn't sure if he was running a fever or not.  
  
"Oh, that's terrible. Poor Will! Um, did he eat any of that?" Glen pointed to a bowl still filled to rim with oatmeal porridge standing on the small table at the side of the bed. There was a towel stained with brown mush lying next to it.  
  
"He didn't finish everything. But he did eat a bit." She lied, remembering how he had pressed his lips together when she tried to put a spoon of porridge into his mouth. And anything she did succeed to force down into him, had been retched out immediately.  
  
- Blood - he had whispered to her, as he was drifting on the edge of lucidity. - I need it. Please. I need to feed again. -  
  
"We have to give him some rest now." She said, turning to her other patient. "Don't worry. Will is going to get better soon."  
  
"I hope so." Glen muttered. "Poor guy. And he was so looking forward to catch that Passions marathon with us tomorrow night. It was all he talked about the last couple of weeks." He shook his head, than added thoughtfully. "Do you think he might be able to come and sit with us in the recreation room to watch the show? I mean I know he's a little catatonic right now but he could use something to cheer him up right now."  
  
"He's NOT catatonic!" She said far too loudly before she herself realized. She cleared her throat, apolitically. "I mean, he's - he's very confused right now and totally out of this world, but nothing serious, really." Nothing that I couldn't fix, she thought, or hoped.  
  
"All right then! Will's not catatonic, I got it!" Glen said, laughing nervously. "And I suppose watching Passions with his pales is out of the question here too. I can imagine that. It was rather silly of me to ask." He gave the good doctor a toothache grin.  
  
Buffy looked at him for a moment, her mind hesitating.  
  
"You know what, I think he should. He should get out of his room and get a chance to hang out with you guys." She said, questioning her sanity for making this decision. Any undertaken action, however thoughtless, seemed to her to be better than just to watch him sink further and further into obliteration while she stood nearby so very helplessly. "Just, let me see how he is doing tomorrow. When he's recovering well, we can always wheel him outside and pop him in the front row."  
  
"It would be good for him." She stated, more so to comfort herself than it was to assure Will's worried friend.  
  
  
  
SCENE 19  
  
She told me her name was Lucy. I though that was incredibly funny till she whacked me in the face and broke my nose, but she assured me that everyone she didn't kill after telling them her real name called her Luce. She had hot hands for a vampire, and every time she touched me it felt as if I was licked by flames. Luce fed me fresh bodies, and I sank my fangs into her generous handouts with a sort of resentful gratitude. I wasn't sure I wanted to be saved by her after all.  
  
One night she came and threw a prisoner at me. Although her body was limp, the girl was still breathing, and conscious, and her mouth opened and closed as if she was a fish thrown at shore, but she couldn't utter a sound.  
  
"Mute." Luce nodded to the frail thing that I clutched onto with my dirty fingers, leaving red prints in her bony arms. "She won't scream. Take your time, William."  
  
After that girl, all of the humans she brought to me were still alive. Their spines were perhaps broken, their tongues torn out, but they breathed and moaned out of fear when I killed each of them, and their death filled my cold unfeeling body with warmth and a sense of completeness.  
  
I could have lived like that till the day of reckoning came and all the cherubs in heaven started burning and ice-skates were handed out in hell, but Luce wasn't the type of demon to let me do this kind of thing. Although she was a great admirer of the seven sins (Rules! She mocked frequently. Always those silly, utterly futile rules! You do realise that God is a pathological control freak, don't you?) she did make an exception for sloth, which was even in her restricted set of morals, considered a true crime.  
  
"Ain't it about time for us leave?" She mused out-loud on one non- particular day. "The summer is gonna turn out hot this year and I'm not keen on the smells and sights of sweltering human flesh. I've a rather delicate nose, you see."  
  
I was just feeding of a hairy old woman whose white manes were making bloody fur-balls in my throat. I stopped and coughed, eyeing at Luce with a bit of a mad grin on my blood-smeared lips.  
  
"How do you mean us? I can't just leave."  
  
"Course not. " She said in that witty sarcastic tune of hers that I had learned to hate and love. "All this filth and total lack of comfort, the piles of shit in the corners, the constant buzzing of flies and mosquitoes, who would leave all that for just a bit of fresh air or a glimpse of the night's sky?"  
  
"You could leave, I reckon." I felt something heavy sink in my stomach as I told her that. I didn't really want to be left alone in here. "If you play it smart and catch the guards when they're bringing in someone new. You're strong enough to take a couple of them out at the same time. But I can't go with you. I'm all chained up."  
  
She burst into that horrible laughter and set her hands on her broad hips. I hated it when she mocked me like this.  
  
"Stop laughing!"  
  
"Really, dear boy! Sometimes you can be so utterly pathetic!"  
  
"I'm NOT pathetic!"  
  
"Right! Then you're just incredibly thick then! Don't you see, you dupe? Those frail iron contraptions can't hold in you here! Not ever since you accepted my little gift at that first night, really."  
  
"What are you jabbering about? I was too weak."  
  
"And weak you still are, it appears. But it's not your body that's feeble. Nor it is the lack of physical strength that keeps you chained."  
  
"Nonsense!" I muttered. "All soddin nonsense."  
  
She bended down to me, her charcoal eyes shimmering in the darkness.  
  
"Come dearie, be brave for a chance! Get up and walk with me. I'm tired of this hellhole. The stench of human misery starts to soak into my pores."  
  
She offered me a hand. There was a moment of hesitation, but I took it. As she pulled me up, I noticed that she was strong like a wicked bull and I felt the harsh tug of my chains on my wrists and neck. For a moment I pictured my hands and my head being torn from my body, with clean fractures where the rusty iron had cleft into the dead flesh. The collar I wore tightened around my throat like a noose. I had to bloody well do something if I didn't want to end up in pieces.  
  
I tugged on the chains on my wrists, and they snapped without offering much resistance. With my freed hand I broke the manacles, which had me tied to the walls like a beaten dog for so long, and it tumbled down before my feet with a loud rattling.  
  
And suddenly, I was free again.  
  
Luce smiled at me. "Told you so, luv. Don't look so dumb surprised."  
  
After that, we made a real mess in our hated quarters. I bet the walls of even such a wretched place like the Tower had never seen so much bloodshed. But as soon as the last bits of iron were torn from my body, leaving purple scars on my pale flesh, and from the moment Luce told me that we should leave the place in some style that suited our demon nature, I lost control over myself. Everything became a blur, a muddled succession of screams and horrified faces, of empty eyes and drained bodies and seas of blood. In the end, the only thing that really stuck with me from the whole soddin massacre, was that I found back my shoes on the feet of a smelly inmate, whose guts were hanging out of his fat belly. I took them off the corpse and put them back on. I found proper trousers on another dead bloke, and took his shirt as well. The fabric had turned yellowish brown of filth and dirt, but there were only tiny specks of blood on it, so it would do.  
  
When the gaoler came in to bring the prisoners supper, he found a mount of corpses, most of them heavily mutilated, that was already covered by flocks of black flies.  
  
"Dear Lord in heaven!" He sounded like a real wimp who had just wetted himself, and the bucket of slob that was meant to feed the prisoners fell on the floor and spilled over all the nice puddles of sticky blood. "Dear Lord in heaven!" He shouted again, followed by frantic footsteps as the man ran away from the horrific scene, possibly in such a hurry that the bloody git had completely forgotten to lock the soddin door behind him. At least I hadn't heard the rattling of keys.  
  
"Should we make a run for it?" I asked, keeping my voice down. I was lying still on top of two not too disgusting corpses. Wasn't very eager to sully my new gear. Luce lay a few feet away from me, her body resting between the cadaver of a headless inmate and a knot of broken limps that didn't seem to belong to anybody specifically. She moved her lips as she talked, but except for that she looked like a corpse herself, which was of course, the whole bloody point.  
  
"Stay down. It's easier this way." She whispered, and closed her eyes so that she didn't have to stare up all the time and get her eyeballs dried out.  
  
The gaoler came back with five more men. All of them couldn't keep their gobs shut about their soddin God in heaven. One of them said it was the work of the devil. I smiled secretly because I knew Luce would be pleased.  
  
They didn't go through the entire mess to make sure that everybody was really dead. Only poked a couple of bodies near the door with broomsticks. Since none of them moved, they draw the conclusion that there wasn't much left to do but to get rid of the whole stinking mount of decaying meat and give the place a good scrubbing before herding in the next load of prisoners. The men started carrying out the bodies. It took them agonizingly long before they got to Luce and me. I had soddin flies crawling all over my face, making me itch. They took Luce first, holding her under her arms and by her feet and carrying her out the miserable place. The moment I saw her disappear out of my sight, I had to repress the compelling urge to get up and run right after her. Finally, They dragged me up and tossed me on a handcart. The geniuses had figured it would work faster that way, and they piled another three or four corpses right on top of me. I didn't give so much as a sound, though the weight was crushing.  
  
They wheeled the whole heap outside. From beneath the clutch of cold body- parts, I caught sight of the large courtyard, where countless crows hopped over the cobbles and cawed in resentment towards the superstitious morons who had cut their wings.* We stopped in front of a shabby looking cart pulled by two large black horses, pale limps of half naked bodies stacked up on it like badly sorted stocks of fish. Two men grabbed me by my arms and feet and swung me on the cart. I let go of a small moan when I stung my ribs in someone's protruding elbow, but they were too busy to take notice.  
  
It took another bloody eternity before the cart was considered full enough and we finally started to move.  
  
TBC  
  
* It is believed that whenever the crows of the Tower of London depart from the place, the English monarchy would fall. That's why the keepers trim the wings of the birds to keep them on the ground. 


	19. ACT 19: Solace part III

TITLE: "Normal again" (8/9) part VI (Because of length, cut in six parts.)  
  
AUTHOR: Richard Bachman  
  
EMAIL: bachman_rchard@hotmail.com  
  
SITE: nope  
  
FEEDBACK: Give it to me luv, you know you want more of this.  
  
DISTRIBUTION: Do whatever you like poodle. As long as Richard is mentioned I'm fine.  
  
SUMMARY: Based on the episode Normal Again. Instead of Buffy, Spike was poisoned by the demon and his consciousness was transported into an alternative reality where he found himself incarcerated in an asylum.  
  
THANK YOU: For your patience, your support and your comments on the story. And yes, I do realise that this chapter is far too long, but it's a necessary evil, trust me.  
  
ACT 8; Solace (III)  
  
  
  
SCENE 20  
  
"Didn't Dr Giles tell us to lock him up?" Mike asked, furrowing a worried brow.  
  
Buffy had just shut the door to Will's bedroom most carefully, making sure not to make a sound to startle him, but she didn't grab the bunch of keys dangling from her belt to lock the room.  
  
"Yes, he did say that." She pulled a nervous face. "But he isn't here, right? And I really don't think Will is going anywhere like that."  
  
"So why don't you just do what Dr Giles says? We didn't even restrain him to his bed. He could just walk right out of here if he decided to get semi lucid all of a sudden."  
  
"If he does get out bed on his own, I will be so happy with it that I will let him." Buffy sighed, giving the orderly an anxious gaze. "Look, it's stupid and irrational. I know. But none of the other patients on this ward are used to getting locked up and Will knows all of them from his therapy group. I don't want to make an exception here that singles him out in front of the others. Glen came to see him just a minute ago and was really worried. I don't want them to think that Will has snapped out and has to be locked away because he's dangerous or anything."  
  
"You're right Dr Summers. It's rather irrational." He paused, and Buffy had half expected him to add that he also quite agreed on this being a stupid way of thinking part. But Mike was wiser than that. "But on the other hand, so are Dr Giles orders. Keeping Will isolated from other people is only going to make it easier for him to slip away. It won't do him any good."  
  
"So, you're going to leave the door open and keep an eye on him for me?" She asked, a bit wary.  
  
"I'll do what I can, Dr Summers. But as soon as Dr Giles hears about this, I'm afraid I have to follow his orders." He turned his eyes to his paper slippers. "Perhaps we should tell him about what really happened to Will. I know I promised you that I should keep it a secret till you spoke with that his brother, but he's your senior after all."  
  
"True." She said softly. "He's my senior, but he isn't always right. Giles can't find out about this yet. He will flip and call the police. I know he will. Please, you can't tell him." She looked him straight into the eyes till Mike gave a slight nod in agreement.  
  
"What if he finds out by himself?" Mike asked.  
  
"He won't. I will make sure Will's problems are all gone by the time Giles starts worrying about him again."  
  
  
  
SCENE 21  
  
Luce had transformed from a plain brown winged moth into a radiant dragonfly. The first thing she did after we jumped off the death cart was getting herself a change of finer clothing. She picked out a lady who was out taking a stroll with her male companion on the Strand along the river Thames, and was careful to judge her size correctly. I had half expected her to make a real mess and ruin the gown, but as she stride out of the dark alley where she had disappeared with the two of them, she was dressed in the stunning slammerkin the alive woman had worn just minutes ago; white satin with silver embroidery, so snowy was the cloth that her skin appeared blushing. There wasn't a single drop spilled on it.  
  
"I just adore the pattern." She purred, rushing over to a small fountain at the square, she sat down by the edge and washed the dirt off her face. "Snakes and apples. Very Eden. Very seductive." She ranked through her hair with wet fingers, getting the worst knits out of the way. "Don't you need a better set of clothing, luv? I think her spouse has the same size as you. That tweed jacket he's wearing would quite suit you I think. It brings out the blue in your eyes."  
  
I shook my head, wiping my dirt-covered hands over my muddy trousers. "No thanks. I think I just keep this. It suits me better."  
  
Luce gazed at me, her raven eyes gliding over my outfit. "Right my dear, rags worthy to a beast of the field. If that's what you are."  
  
"I don't need anything better. I'm a demon. I know what my purpose is."  
  
I froze when a laugher as brittle and cold as ice shattered from her throat. "My dear boy! My dear - dear boy! Even now, you're in doubt, aren't you?"  
  
She rose slowly, her pose that of a rigid statue.  
  
"You are still in pain."  
  
She dabbed her face and neck with her sleeves, leaving dark patches on the satin. Luce was lovely. Her black hair curled in wet strings around an angelic face that was cream with rose-peddle blushes. She licked her lips, plump and red and wicked.  
  
"Why are you still trying to punish yourself?" Her words spilled hot into my ears, her mouth brushing my cheek. "Let it go William. Let it all go. Didn't you learn anything from me yet?"  
  
  
  
SCENE 22  
  
Buffy woke up that Saturday morning with a tiredness and vigilance pressing on her shoulders. She went through Will's files again and again over breakfast, hardly aware of her teenage sister's worried stare as she hid herself behind the papers and spilled her coffee over the rim of her cup. Her mind was constantly occupied. While driving back to the institute, she almost ran over a couple of schoolchildren as they were crossing the streets in a reckless pursuit of each other. After she arrived and rushed her way down to her office, she thought of the things she was going to say to him, carefully choosing her words.  
  
- Liam, I must speak to you. There's something I know that you must know that I know but nobody else knows so far -  
  
She shook her head, stupid clumsy line.  
  
- Liam, I know what you've done to Will. I want you to stop. You are -  
  
You're the one who is supposed to be locked up in here! Not Will. Will didn't deserve any of this! Hadn't he suffered enough already? What on earth made you do this to him?  
  
Buffy shook her head to her inner voice of reason, aware of her rising disgust for the man. Bile souring her throat, turning her heart into stone. With effort, she sucked in a deep breath of air.  
  
Anger wasn't what she needed right now.  
  
-You are ill. Liam, you are ill and you need help. -  
  
Please stop it.  
  
Stop destroying him.  
  
I love him.  
  
She practiced till the lines sounded flat to her and no longer caused her emotions to stir. When she left her station around eleven, she still had four hours to prepare herself for her afternoon meeting with Liam Byron.  
  
  
  
SCENE 23  
  
The pub was full of costumers filling the place up with the smell of beer and sweat. Dices rattled, the loud clatter of conversations and dirty Cockney songs. Back in a corner, sitting at a battered wooden table, Luce was waiting for me to tell her everything. Her hot hands were holding mine. She folded my fingers, baring the palm of my right hand. It appeared clean, but if you looked close enough you could see the rusty lines of crimson that ran along the grooves.  
  
"How many luv?" Her voice was husk, thick with anticipation.  
  
"Five." I answered. I watched over my shoulders, making sure nobody else saw the blood on my hands. Blood that I was so eager to let her see as a good diligent schoolboy showing his teacher his first scribbling on the slate. - Look miss! Look what I did! Didn't I make a terrific mess? -  
  
"Did they suffer?"  
  
I leaned back into my chair. My other hand draped over the back and with one boot resting on the table, I grinned cockishly. "Did they suffer? Bloody well tortured the wits out of them!"  
  
Her lavish lips curled, and there was this joy stirring, an itchy glee that struck me every time I did something that pleased her enough to reward me with that smile. I decided to tell her more.  
  
"First, I dragged them to the stables. They didn't put much of a fight, considered what I had done to them already. Then, I used the ropes that I had found in the storage to tie them up. I made a noose for each of them, secured it around their necks."  
  
There came a tinge of light inside her black eyes, and she leaned closer to hear my words.  
  
"I tossed the ropes over a large beam running across the ceiling, then made them stand on top of a pile of crates, all in a neat row." I shut my eyes for a sec, and saw their faces. A butler, a young manservant, a maid, the mistress of the house and her two children; a tall girl and a sickly looking boy who cried piteously when I struck his mother across the face.  
  
"How did it end?"  
  
I opened my eyes again, looking into hers. There was a swirling in my stomach, a lightness in my head.  
  
"They had four horses, as was to be expected from an honourable family like the Roberts. One stallion and three mares. I secured the two men, the girl and the maid to each of the animals. Then I opened the door of the stables and gave the horses a slap at their rumps. They swung like dead crows from a bare tree."  
  
Her lips curled again, and split to show teeth, rewarding me with a small impious smile.  
  
"What did you do with the mother and her son?"  
  
I took a swig of ale and licked my lips.  
  
"I strung up the boy myself, and made her watch. I had wanted to save her for my last kill, but she was already dead by the time the brat's fat little face turned un unnamed shade of blue."  
  
"What happened?" She asked, not with disapproval for my little cock-up, but with an amused ring in her voice.  
  
"She jumped off the barrels and broke her neck." I shrugged, taking another swig of ale. "Took her own life, so she wouldn't have to watch her own flesh and blood getting strangled."  
  
"A true mother." She mocked, hate burning fierce in her eyes.  
  
"Yeah, although she should have known that she was going straight to hell for this. It's still suicide. But I guess she wasn't exactly the sharpest knife in the box."  
  
"William." She was still holding my right hand, her fingers tracing the blood streaks. She cut with her nails along the bended lines, deepening each of them, creating new ones as her cuts diverged from the main trails.  
  
"Only five?"  
  
I cocked an eyebrow at her, trying to mimic bloody innocent confusion.  
  
"You said you killed five. But I count six. The servants, the two children and the mistress. There were six of them."  
  
I lowered my eyes and watched how she drew blood on my hand. I wondered if she was trying something with her seemingly harmless cut-games. I was no more a superstitious bloke as the next vampire, but wasn't it said that your fate was written in the lines of your hand? If I showed one of those fortune-telling swindlers down at Regent Circus mine, would they still recognize my existence in it? Or would they only see the knot of lines that Luce's jolly handy-work had left behind?  
  
"What did you do to the boy?"  
  
I showed her what I did. I didn't have the guts to tell her straight into her face. We left the pub, and I led her back to the Roberts family's dwelling, a stately mansion with huge windows and marble pillars. At the back were the stables. The broad wooden doors were still ajar and creaked in their rusty hinges.  
  
Two of the four horses were still there, and kept the maid and butler swinging from the ceiling. Their bodies were already stiff and blue, drawing thin shadows on the beaten earth floor. The stallion and the black mare were gone, and so were the bodies that had been attached to their riggings. Behind the barrels, hidden first from our sight, came the sniffling of the boy. The noose still hung around his little neck like a rough necklace, a purple bruise showed where the rope had touched his skin. His mother's body dangled in front of him. Eyes closed. Her blue-lipped mouth opened as if caught in uttering his son's name.  
  
Luce didn't say a word, just turned her heels and walked away.  
  
"Luce! Luce, I'm sorry!"  
  
She pushed open the doors and strode out into the courtyard, her back held rigid and her hands clenching on to her baggy skirt, lifting them to quicken her steps.  
  
"Oi! I said I was sorry!"  
  
I caught her arm and tried to hold on to her, but she twirled around and grabbed my wrist and twisted, her fingers tightening around it till it hurt like hell, and I thought that she would just snap it like a dried twig.  
  
"You let him live." She hissed, her voice dripping poison.  
  
Well, at least she was still willing to talk to me.  
  
"I didn't want to disappoint you." I said, truthfully.  
  
"You didn't disappoint me." Her eyes turned cold. "It had never been about me. Why are you so foolish, William? After all this time, after everything I've shown you, you're still conducting iniquity for the wrong reasons! What in the name of every wretched soul that's burning in the cosy fires of hell is wrong with you?"  
  
I sucked in an unneeded breath and tightened my jaws, the painful pressure on my wrist reminding me that bones were fragile things, easily broken. Still, I didn't ask her to let me go. I was taught better than that.  
  
"Did you think I needed you to kill him, for me that is?" She smiled oddly at me, a twisting of lips that spelled superiority. "The boy cannot escape me. His life is mine to take. Perhaps not today, but after what you've done, it won't be long before he's swinging from the gallows. I'll make of sure of that."  
  
It struck me that she meant what she said. The young lad would be collared and dead before he turned sixteen, dragging a string of others with him into ruin as he grew up to become a thief or a murderer, his innocence poisoned by memories of what I had done.  
  
So even when I make a mistake and try to do good, I end up creating more misery than when I would just do the things that I am supposed to, I thought bitterly.  
  
"I wasn't interested in him. Humans with souls like his are sold twenty in a dozen."  
  
Fear crept into my dead bones. There had been this feeling, this nagging suspicion ever since she rescued me from the gaols. But I had never enough courage before to think it through more properly, to draw my conclusions on her.  
  
"What I wanted, was you."  
  
She let go of my wrist. I wrenched away from her, my mind raced and recollected all her oddities, how she felt so incredibly hot to the touch for a vampire, how she knew my name that first night I ever met her. Her resentment to God and how she spoke of Him like a punished child bad- mouthing her parent.  
  
Luce, Lucifer.  
  
Satan.  
  
"You're a special boy, William. A rare gem that I like to purchase for my own private collection to bring the green of envy into the Old Man's eyes."  
  
She looked at me as I gazed at her, confusion written all over my face. But no fear. Never show fear to the likes of her. It would be like signing your own death warrant.  
  
"It's like a challenge, you see. Time's a plenty. So what's to do with eternity otherwise? I don't like to be idle."  
  
"Perhaps you should pick up sewing or housekeeping." The insult rolled out of my mouth before I could put a cork in it, and I bit on my tongue to punish the daft thing.  
  
She didn't set me on fire with a snap of her fingers, or made the ground split open and swallow me all up into the blazing inferno of hell below. Nor did I shrink and did my limps become all slimy and bend as she turned me into a warty toad. She just stood there, only slightly lifting a dark brow at me, her arms crossed over her bodice.  
  
"Witty tongues won't save you. You've already pawned your soul and lost the receipt. Why are you still doing this, luv? There isn't another path for you left other than the one I've decided for you. You're one of mine. Stop staring over the bloody borders, thinking that God's meadows look so much greener. Even if it's so, you won't set foot on it. Ever."  
  
"For the last time, I'm not trying to redeem myself." I spat, the fear was thick, but the gut feeling that she wasn't fair to me was even thicker. "I'm over my guilt. I can kill without feeling anything, like any other demon. I'm NOT your special case who needs more attention or further persuasion to stick to his evil self."  
  
"Bah! Even now you're blind for your own weakness!" She snorted, sticking her nose in the air like she smelled something vile rising from beneath. "Can't you see why you spared that wretched boy? Why you probably felt that pang of pain cut through your dead ugly heart when you saw the mother jump without her feet ever touching the ground?"  
  
"No! I bloody well can't!" I shouted, anger rising in me like boiling acid. "So why don't you tell me what's wrong with me then?"  
  
"You lack control! There's this evil inside of you, a great gift of power, but instead of being grateful you're continuously disgusted by it! All because you let your emotions take over so easily! You hate and fear and envy with the same intensity as did when you were still alive! As if you still had a soul to lose!"  
  
I didn't know what to say and just stared at her.  
  
"You are even able to love someone. True love, the very - it hurts so bad but I'm still prepared to sacrifice my demon hide - variety!" She spat on the earth before my feet. "It's just bloody sickening!"  
  
"I won't do it again." I muttered, my head bowed in shame, asking her for forgiveness. What else could I do? "I won't lose control again. I'll do what I'm supposed to from now on. No more pity to cloud my judgements. I promise."  
  
"You shouldn't do this for me, William! Hell! Do you still not get this? You should take over control for the benefit of your own self! Think of what they have done, what you have allowed them to do to you! You've tried to please Angelus and you end up abandoned in the gutter, discarded like dirt. You tried to take care of Drusilla, and she repaid your devotion and love with treachery and heartache. You attempted to do good -"  
  
She lifted her hand and traced her hand over my cheek, her tantrum subsiding out of her tense body. Her touch was searing, blinding.  
  
"You tried to love her, craving to be finally loved in return. And yet again, you end up alone, broken. As always."  
  
"I - I d-didn't try."  
  
She gazed at me now, almost lovingly.  
  
"Believe me, if anything I tried so hard not to!" I muttered, my throat tightening around my words. "I knew that it was wrong. Perverse even, to the point of getting the bloody pukers! But -Buffy -" her name slipped past my lips and I was stunned that I could remember her. Knew who she was. It wasn't right. She didn't fit here.  
  
"She is your weakness." She whispered.  
  
"I love her." I pleaded, disgrace compelling me not to look her into the eyes. "Please, I don't want to hurt her. I rather dust myself or take a stroll in the sun."  
  
"Who said you had to?"  
  
I kept avoiding her gaze. Dark thoughts rattling inside my head like rats in a too tiny cage.  
  
"I want you to take control over your existence, my luv. Not destroy it by taking away your childish dreams. One has to have dreams, to want to exist, to keep on fighting. Without that, life is just empty and we are as good as dead."  
  
Relief and the tiniest speck of hope, and I finally found enough courage to look into my tutor's face again. She seemed so compassionate, so kind. All the poison of her rage and disgust with me had seeped out and had left her a tending mother, a forgiving father, and I was their long lost son.  
  
"What do I have to do?" My voice was broken ice, cold and brittle. "Tell me. What do I have to do to make it all better?"  
  
"Go back to her. Go back to your family." She wrapped her arms around me, devouring my flesh in scorching heat, like I was already burning in the eternal fires of hell. But to me, this was still better than the cold and loneliness that I had felt for so long. At least by her, I was accepted.  
  
"Take your fate in your own hands, my luv."  
  
Something smooth lay in my right hand, burning to the touch. I opened my hand and looked, a rusty piece of iron, blackened by heat.  
  
Her smile was as seductive as ever.  
  
"Angelus must be already waiting for you."  
  
  
  
SCENE 24  
  
The dark Sedan swept over the small secluded parking-lot, hurling a trail of yellow and orange into the air and coming to a halt with a loud shrieking of tires. He killed the engine and parked the car under the barren trees, his feet crushing dead leaves as he stepped out.  
  
He took in a breath of cold air, inhaling deeply. Wet earth with a touch of decay, so very pretty depressing. The grey sky above hung low, heavy with rain. No wonder there were more suicides around this time of year. A man would put the barrel of a fully loaded gun in his mouth for less.  
  
He started to move into the direction of the institution. His palms were sweating. His heart a quivering lump of flesh. When he reached the fenced gates, and looked up at the monstrous building with its red-brick façade and its barred black holes for windows, his breath became trapped in his lungs.  
  
"Liam, I want to talk to you about William."  
  
He had asked her what it was that troubled her. Meanwhile his suspicion was rising, nibbling at him like a maggot.  
  
"It's something I can't talk about over the phone." She sounded different from usual, less compassionate, harsher, and the little maggot of worry inside turned into a giant flesh eating monster.  
  
"Come to see me in my office, tomorrow at three in the afternoon. We can discuss things in private."  
  
"I thought I still had a date with you for tomorrow night." He had said, trying to steer the conversation to an another topic. Something that didn't make his heart jump or made him as nervous as a rattling snake.  
  
She didn't go in on that, only reminded him to come to their appointment. Her voice was as frosty as ice.  
  
He couldn't sleep after that telephone call.  
  
Now he stood before the gates of the institute, the so-called hospital where his very own brother had spent the last five years of his life in wretchedness and misery. He passed through the gateway, giving a slight nod to the guy sitting in the security station, who was idly flipping through a magazine. A buzz followed, and the gates swept close behind him, the loud clanging of metal on metal stabbed ice cold fear into his heart.  
  
What if they wouldn't let him out again?  
  
Would he be forced to spent the rest of his life in this nightmare place, deprived from his liberty, kept in claustrophobic white rooms, chained like a beast, just as he had condemned Will to such horrors?  
  
Would it be punishment, or would it be mere justice?  
  
His hand slipped into the pocket of his coat, and with his thumb he brushed over the smooth coolness of the hidden Colt firearm. The chromed lined barrel felt surprisingly hot to the touch, as if the weapon had just been fired.  
  
- I'm not going to use it. - The thought of taking it out of his pocket and pressing the end of the barrel against his temple passed his mind and he shivered, though the temptation was as strong as his own despair. - It's there, just in case. - If she's not prepared to listen to me. - if she refuse to understand any of it like Will did so very foolishly. - It will be there. To put an end to all of this.  
  
  
  
TBC 


	20. ACT 20: And So It Ends part I

TITLE: "Normal again" (9/9) part I (Because of length, cut in three parts.)  
  
AUTHOR: Richard Bachman  
  
EMAIL: bachman_rchard@hotmail.com  
  
SITE: nope  
  
FEEDBACK: Give it to me luv, you know you want more of this.  
  
DISTRIBUTION: Do whatever you like poodle. As long as Richard is mentioned I'm fine.  
  
SUMMARY: Based on the episode Normal Again. Instead of Buffy, Spike was poisoned by the demon and his consciousness was transported into an alternative reality where he found himself incarcerated in an asylum.  
  
THANK YOU: For your patience, your support and your comments on the story.  
  
  
  
ACT 9; And so it ends. (part I)  
  
  
  
SCENE 1  
  
I stood there, with the rain beating down on me. The tall Victorian mansion still looked the same as it did when I left it almost a full year ago. Red bricked walls, crumbly porch, blinded windows to keep out daylight. Thorny branches of roses crept up and down the stones, barren due to the time of year. Or Angelus did a really lousy job in keeping them in shape. I raised my arm, my hand bald into a tight fist, and knocked on the door.  
  
No-one answered.  
  
I knocked again, harder this time.  
  
It took a while, but then noise came out of the hallway, and through the colourful glass panel in the woodwork, I could see someone scuffling toward me. Someone dressed in white and tall of posture. Strangely, there was no rattling of keys before the front door cracked open just an inch.  
  
"William, you're out of bed!"  
  
I blinked my eyes and smiled sheepishly, not quite remembering him as a member of the household staff, but the man seemed to know me, so there was no need for further introduction. Behind my back, I hid the rusty railroad spike that Luce had given me. The iron was burning on my cold skin.  
  
"May I come in?" I asked, remembering myself to be polite.  
  
The man looked at me as if he was expecting me dusted, or at least beaten into a bloody pulp, certainly not able to stand there in front of him with all my limps still attached. Can't blame the human. It's a vamp eats vamp world out there. Very ugly things could happen to an inexperienced runaway fledgling in a full year time.  
  
"Are you feeling all right?"  
  
I nodded, a bit surprised by his concern. Since when did the poof hire staff that actually cared about the bloodthirsty family's well being? Most of them just wished us dead so they could move on to a safer employer. The door opened and closed again, letting the man out, but keeping me outside. My hand holding on to the railroad spike itched. This wasn't exactly what I had in mind. The wanker had to invite me in or I would never be able to get to my old Sire.  
  
"Let me take a good look at you."  
  
I flinched when he reached out his hand and pulled both my eyelids up, shining into me with a flashlight till I could see the tiny capillaries at the back of my sodden eyeballs. I wanted to shove him away, perhaps break a couple of ribs while I'm at it, but somewhere in the dark void of my mind, Luce warned me not to lose my temper.  
  
- Keep quiet my boy. Remember how we got ourselves out of the gaols? Trust me. It's easier this way. -  
  
I kept myself very still, like a corpse. Didn't even blink when my eyes started to water.  
  
"Your reflexes are back." The strange servant muttered, slipping the light back into the front pocket of his immaculately white shirt. "Do you know where you are Will?"  
  
-That's a trick question. - Hissed Luce inside my head. - Better be cautious. -  
  
"I'm - I'm not sure - I'm - home again?" I tried. Bloody well had to say something, the bloke was looking at me like he was constipated, brows all knit in caveman style. He perked up a bit in response to my reply, his lips pulling into a friendly grin.  
  
"You're still in the institute, Will. But I guess it's as near to home as it can get for you for the time being."  
  
"Right." I nodded, although the words home and institute didn't really compute into something that made any sense to me. I swallowed. My mouth felt suddenly dry.  
  
"God! We thought we lost you! Dr Summers would be so pleased to see you up and running again! Here, sit down and let me get -"  
  
He gently pushed me further away from the door, but I had enough of his eccentric vamp juggling and talking gibberish, and slapped his hands off me.  
  
"Will, calm down! Listen! Listen, I'm not going to hurt you! Just sit down on your bed for a while and let me get Dr Sum -"  
  
"Let me in!"  
  
"Let you in - You mean let you out of your room? Is that what you want?"  
  
"Yeah." I nodded, seriously considering if the wanker had not been cadging off my old Sire's medicine cabinet. If he had, he wasn't going to be in his good service for very long. "I want to get inside. So if you would be so kind to give me an invitation? I need to speak to your master."  
  
He stared at me with the blank facial expression of a grazing cow.  
  
"Look, I don't have much time here. A friend is waiting for me. I just want to drop a message to my ol' Sire and be off again. I'm familiar with what your master tells you about receiving other vampires, don't let them in or it's the spilling of guts and torn off limps for you, right? But believe me, I'm a bit of a special case. He is expecting me. He won't hold it against you when you let me in. Trust me."  
  
Actually, with what I had in mind for the Glorious Angelus, the servant's family was going to be bloody lucky to find a single bone left of the guy. My grand Sire was absolutely going to chop him into smithereens, provided the grand pillock survived his revengeful childe's visit that was.  
  
I gave the bloke a broad - ain't we the best of pales - smile. Humans were not easy to deceive, but it wasn't particularly hard work either. Just had to know where to push the right buttons. However, incredibly charming as I was, the bloke's solemnity didn't part from him. Must be contagious.  
  
"Will." He stated most cautiously, as if he was afraid that he might break something here. "Why don't you come with me to the recreation room. Sit down and calm your nerves. And I go get someone to take a good look at you."  
  
He pushed open the door without turning his back on me, and stepped aside to let me through. I glanced up at him and rolled my eyes, greatly irritated by how daft he was and having less patience left in me than a six year old.  
  
"Invitation? Or did the poofter keep my passage rights just to make his tedious existence a bit more interesting?"  
  
The thought of Angelus NOT closing his lair on me after I left hadn't even passed my mind. My Sire was a complete wanker, but you could hardly accuse him of being naïve.The funny servant gave me an uncomfortable look. Then he scrapped his throat.  
  
"All right. I guess you can - em." He had to think for a moment, the poor simpleton. " em - come in."  
  
I stepped over the threshold. There was no barrier that slammed against me body like an invisible wall, and the stiffness of the outdoors cold parted from my flesh as domestic warmth cuddled me in comfort. I fell silent and blinked my eyes in disbelief. The poof had done some serious redecorating while I was gone. I couldn't recognize the place at all. Fear, unreasonable and primal, took control over the steering wheel. Something was awfully wrong here.  
  
The interior didn't fit. It didn't fit at all.  
  
The walls and the floor in the long corridor that stretched out before my eyes were sickly green, like a stormy October sea. The ceiling was bright white, and high, and I could not look up at it for too long or the strips of harsh lights beating down from it would blind my eyes with too many colours. Doors. An endless row of doors, both at my right and at my left. They were all closed, except for mine. The corridor ended in a grim blind wall, and only the sounds of fractured conversation coming from around the corner reminded me that the world didn't end just there.  
  
"Come on then. Let's go."  
  
I flinched as the servant grabbed hold of my arm, expecting something unpleasant. Something that I remembered from this place, that brought back a sense of sheer panic and dread. My left hand, which had clutched onto Luce's gift with the growing despair of a drowning man holding on to a floating raft, struck out with intentions to kill or hurt. I saw it all happen before my eyes; the metal, black as the darkness inside, entering the body of the man, right in his soft belly. The red that overflow his immaculate white outfit. The gasp of air that escaped the mutilated body as I pulled the spike up towards the chest and the spilling of guts that plop right out of the wide horrific wound, splashing on the tiles like bags filled with jelly, making them all slippery.  
  
However, I was pretty shocked to find that the railroad spike had disappeared.  
  
My hands were empty. I stared down at both of them in disbelief, holding them in front of me, my fingers bending and unbending, over and over, as if trying to touch something, catch some semi-solidity in the air that could be made fully solid again. But it was gone.  
  
I closed my eyes in dread, a sound of a human heartbeat vibrated through my blood and into my ears. I panicked and I tried not to breath; it caused an unpleasant straining on my lungs that grew rapidly into desperation. I sucked in a lung full of air. My mind rattled and my emotions had a jolly good time messing me up.  
  
"What is this place?" My voice trembled. I didn't want it to tremble. I promised Luce I would be in control of myself. Be strong. But instead I found myself turning on my heels in panic to get out of the soddin house.  
  
"Will! William? Calm down!"  
  
He grabbed me by my waist and pulled me away from the door. I trashed with my arms and kicked with me legs, the air forced out of me as his grip intensified. The small front garden with the wet porch and the bad English weather outside was still there. I could smell the wet earth and feel the cold draught entering this dreadful place. I could still go back there, run away from this nightmare and forget all about Angelus and taking revenge.  
  
- What are you doing!?- Luce voice was filled with bile, anger punctuating her every word. - You imbecile! Have you forgotten what I've taught you? About power? About control? Do you want to be controlled by him for the rest of your existence? -  
  
I let go of a soft whimper, and tried to relax my shaking body. It felt to me like a coiled up spring that was being forced into a tiny box. The servant noticed my attempt to submit, and he relaxed his hold on me.  
  
"It's all right. No-one going to hurt you." He said gently.  
  
I breathed in deeply and let the air slip out again in tattered breaths.  
  
"You're awake now. You're back in the real world."  
  
Back in the real world? Awake? Is that what I was? I was William August Byron, bloody well deceased. How long had I been dead? How long had Luce been waiting for me to come out of Angelus' liar? Days, weeks? Years, decades? I flung my gaze at the door and saw that it was still twilight and raining outside. It couldn't have been that long. But then the servant (Mike - the bloke's name was Mike and he was some kind of a male nurse. I knew him.) closed it with a push of his elbow. I was trapped.  
  
The heavy front door of the Aurelius' mansion with the elaborately decorated stained glass panels now looked as plain and depressing as the other doors in the corridors. There was nothing left in here that could remind me of the Victorian world that I had left behind, from which I came to be, except for Luce's quiet chanting inside my head.  
  
Be strong. Be invulnerable. Take control.  
  
It calmed me. Covered the terrible confusion and fear with a thin layer of indifference that acted like frost. Underneath my dreamlike state, chaos ruled, but I barely noticed. So much more pleasant was her sedation. To be sedated by her was to forget all about pain and doubts.  
  
"Take me to see Angelus." I said. My voice sounded strange, like it wasn't mine at all.  
  
He merely nodded, and gently took me by my arm. Then he urged me to walk with him. The tiles were cold to touch, and I noticed that I was barefooted. My clothes were almost a size too large and hung from my shoulders like a heavy sack made out of rough bleached fabric. Wearing them made me feel small and vulnerable, and I loathed myself for that. Quickly, I shut down my train of thoughts, any observation that could clear the pleasant fog in my mind, and turned my attention fully to Luce. Her words were of great importance and comfort, because they told me exactly what to do.  
  
SCENE 2  
  
"Please. Take a seat."  
  
Buffy pulled her own chair from underneath her desk and sat down, folded her hands over her knees and observed Liam Byron in what she hoped a stern and calm manner. She had never been a good actress. In every school play that she had been forced to participate, she always ended up with small parts that couldn't be screwed up too easily, like playing one of the crowd or else a silent part of the décor, like a rock or a tree. However, for this occasion, she had practiced her lines in front of the mirror in the ladies' room, till she had every twitch, every furrow of her facial expression in control. The conversation that was bound to take place between William's brother and her, was vital, bearing such importance for Will and Liam's future that she couldn't allow herself to screw it up.  
  
She had only one chance to save them both.  
  
He sat down. Even seated the man seemed impossibly tall. Once, she had considered his height to be attractive, but after what she had learned about him, she could only regard his stature to be imposing, perhaps even threatening. What if he wasn't the respectable but strayed man she though he was? What if she was wrong and all the regret and penance she had seen in him were just cunningly acted?  
  
"You need to talk to me about William?"  
  
He sounded forcefully casual. He didn't want to really be in here, talking to her. His eyes darted from his hands that he had folded in his lap to the door and back, without looking up at her.  
  
"Yes." Her heart fluttered, but from the surface, she appeared calm. They were like two actors now, standing on stage, wearing masks and reciting lines, trying to keep up pretence but both knowing that the curtains were about to fall.  
  
"About the incident last Thursday, when you were visiting."  
  
"I don't know what happened in there. He just freaked out on me."  
  
"Liam, Will had been suffering from a terrible breakdown because of that incident. We had to put him in isolation and strap him down in order to calm him. We had to give him some very heavy medication, and all of this almost brought him back into a catatonic state."  
  
There was a sudden change in his cold, defensive posture as she informed him on his brother's grave condition.  
  
"You didn't tell me that over the phone! Is he all right? How is he?"  
  
"Still under observation. But he's recovering." She lied. She had to. Upsetting Liam at this point wouldn't benefit his emotional state when she came to the real grim part.  
  
Liam let go a sigh of relief. "Thank Goodness! Oh God, I wouldn't know what to do if he - if he would get back to that zombie-like condition."  
  
His kind words were comforting her. Calmed her doubts about her decision.  
  
"That would be just too damn awful. He would be better off dead than to be like that again."  
  
She gazed at him, anger awakened by this inconsiderate remark.  
  
"Wouldn't it be better then? I mean he had been no better off than a plant or an animal for the past five years! He couldn't move, he couldn't speak, couldn't even wash or clothe himself. The orderlies used to wheel him around in that rusty old wheelchair till even they didn't bother any longer and just kept him chained to the bed day and night. That's not living!" He shook his head, violently. "It's dying, day by day, in a most slow and horrible way imaginable. I watched him die for these last five years and I don't want to go through that again."  
  
There was a silence, uncomfortable and burdened, and she watched as Liam covered his face with his hands, rubbing his eyes as if he was tired, not only of speaking, but also of his responsibilities. He, the older, sane brother who had to take care of his ill little sibling. Perhaps it had all finally become too much for him to bear.  
  
"That's just horrible." She muttered.  
  
He looked up, somewhat startled.  
  
"Look, I don't exactly know what you're going through. My kid sister is sane and healthy, and although I have to take care of her, my own situation probably cannot be compared with yours, since William is suffering from severe mental illness. But I do know one thing. I would never wish Dawn dead because she has become a burden to me!" Her voice rose in anger, the actress was no longer keeping to her lines. These words had to be said. "He is your brother Liam! He's family! We don't wish them any harm!"  
  
"You don't understand - " His face flushed red, his eyes were wide and white rimmed. "You don't know how it's like to see him like this! In here, this so-called health institution! It's a fucking prison! That's what it is! He had done nothing wrong and still the doctors forced me to lock him up! He doesn't belong in this madhouse. It wasn't his fault, not any of it. If only he had listened to me. If he - if he had just let me deal with him. I could have got rid of him on my own."  
  
He paused, and when she caught a glimpse of his eyes she saw that they were sunken into his face, which itself had turned into a grey mask of grief.  
  
"Deal with who?" She asked, carefully.  
  
He stared at her for a moment, confused, as if puzzled that she was interested in what exactly was shaping HIS nightmares instead of his little brother's. Then he waved his hand and laughed, finding the notion to tell her about his inner demon too preposterous to even consider. He knew about her kind. Doctors were all the same. They were good in seduction with their kind smiles and kind words, pretending to be willing to listen, and made you believe that they were there to offer help. But once you were deceived and rely fully on their trust, once you had opened the doors and had bared your entire soul to them, they would betray you, labelling you as a dangerous madman and condemning you to a place that was worse than death.  
  
His hand slipped into the deep pocket of his coat, and the feel of smooth metal against the flesh of his thumb calmed his nerves that were now growing tense like strings on a violin.  
  
"It doesn't matter. The problem doesn't exist anymore."  
  
"I want to know." Somehow, his reference to this other person caught her attention and sent up big flashy warning signs.  
  
"I'm not here to talk about MY mental health. I'm here to talk about Will's."  
  
"Liam -"  
  
"Why did you need to see me for?"  
  
"You need to tell me what's going on here! Who is this guy? Is he a relative? Did he - did he have something to do with William's illness?"  
  
"Look! If you don't want to get to the damn point, fine. I will. I didn't come here just because you had obviously a certain issue with me for triggering Will's relapse. I had something to say to you as well. I've decided it was best for Will to be transferred from your ward to the care of Dr Walsh, starting from the beginning of next month."  
  
She froze. This was really unexpected.  
  
"You - you've decided to do what?"  
  
"I've been speaking to Dr Walsh. She promised me to give more attention to Will than he currently receives from your therapy group, in which the doctor's time has to be divided among the other patients. He will be watched and tended for 24 hours a day, and she also informed me about the possibilities of other kind of treatments that might quicken his recovery."  
  
"You can't do this to him."  
  
"I'm his brother Dr Summers. I'm his only family left. Believe me, I have the right to take these kind of decisions."  
  
"Don't take him away from my care! He's already in a bad enough state as he is!"  
  
"I only want what's best for him. Besides, Dr Walsh told me that she would allow me to see him more often. I want to come here on Friday from now on and spend the weekends with him. She told me that it would do him good."  
  
There was queasiness and a sickening taste of something vile under the tongue. The thought of what this man had done to Will, and what would become of her poor patient if he would be subjected to Dr Walsh inhuman practices, filled her with revulsion for Liam Byron, the kind that could no longer be restrained by carefully planned strategies and well-learned lines. Her head spun of emotions and violent words were burning on her tongue.  
  
"You won't take him away from me! I won't let you! Not after what you've done to him!"  
  
"It's not for you to decide Dr Summers! My request has already been approved by the board. And why do you keep thinking that I've done something to Will?! I've done nothing to him! I didn't hurt him or anything! He was delusional and he attacked me, something that could have been prevented if he wasn't allowed to dwindle in his made up fairytale land for such a long time. I should have hand over his care to Dr Walsh months ago. Maybe he would have been able to come home for Christmas by now!"  
  
"You've done something to him. I know it. He was bleeding."  
  
Liam's eyes turned down to the ground as if staring her right into the face had suddenly become impossible.  
  
"I didn't hit him. Couldn't even defend myself after he hit me at the back of my head with that chair. It must have been one of the orderlies -"  
  
"He has been raped." She said it calmly, but her voice carried grief and contempt.  
  
Liam fell silent, his mouth opened as if to say something to contradict her, but then his guilt finally caught up with his stubbornness and started to dig through his hazed memories for the truth, for what had happened to his brother. The horrific incidents came back to him like a procession of frames, and he remembered the thing that hurt him the most; the painful silence William was in every time he abused him. Not a scream. Not a cry for help. He took his perversions like a broken whore. The same with the beating, the endless stream of violence, both physical and psychological. He never said a word about it afterwards. Right until the very end.  
  
"You raped him." She said, her voice nothing more but a hoarse whisper. "I don't know how long this has been going on. I don't know how much damage you've already done to him. But I beg you to stop. He can't take much more of your abuse. Please Liam. Let him get better."  
  
Liam closed his eyes. There were tears fighting their way to the surface. There was sorrow and regret so deep that it would drown him and sent him into a bottomless abyss. There was a howl, caught in his throat, a cry of outrage for causing such pain to someone for whom he cared so much. But there was also something else surfacing, something that prospered in his shame and inner turmoil, and its' power was rising with his fear.  
  
"Don't hand him over to Dr Walsh. He won't survive it. Please. Let him stay here. Right now, he needs me more than anything else in this world."  
  
"Dr Summers - Buffy, I didn't mean to hurt him! I really didn't."  
  
She fell silent, and watched how the tall man buried his face behind his trembling hands and shrunk into a small heap of misery before her.  
  
"God, my own little brother! How can live with myself! I let him do these things to him! All these horrible things! And all this time, he didn't say anything, didn't even scream. I let him break him and didn't do a thing to stop that monster!"  
  
Buffy tilted her head, her eyes studying the grieving man with growing suspicion.  
  
"You let HIM do these things to William? What do you mean by HIM?"  
  
"Him, it, the - the monster inside. Will knew about it. He tried to warn me. Told me to go see a doctor for my problems but I refused. I thought or hoped that it was something that could go away on it's own, like it was just a bad case of flu or a cold. But it's nothing like that. The monster inside is not just an illness. It's something stronger, much stronger than I was. And Will knew that. He knew it the whole time."  
  
An icy feeling stabbed her in her heart. Suddenly, her anger was paralysed by a sense of dread, and she had to force herself to carry on with the conversation.  
  
She took in a deep breath, then asked; "You mean, you didn't want to do all these horrible things, but you were forced to? You lost control over your own actions?"  
  
"I lost control over everything. Even my own mind." He still had his face hidden in his hands, breathing loudly into the small hollow of his folded palms. His voice was muffled. " I used to have these long blackouts, especially at nights. And it's getting worse. I can hardly remember what I've done the last couple of months. The visits to Will, I can only remember them for the first half hour, after that, everything becomes a blur. That incident of last Thursday, I was just talking to Will about our childhood holidays at lake Michigan when suddenly, the lights go out and the next thing I know, I wake up with a splitting headache, and Will's is huddled on the floor, hold back by orderlies while staring at me with horror in his eyes. I was so confused. So afraid of what happened in there. I couldn't remember a thing."  
  
He shook his head, hands brushing away the wetness on his cheeks in swift, angry movements.  
  
"But I do remember now."  
  
He finally dared to look up and gaze right into her eyes.  
  
"Thanks to you. I remember. Every detail. Everything part of it that hurts. And it's going to haunt me now forever."  
  
"You're Schizophrenic." Buffy concluded in a low voice, as if hardly able to believe it herself. "You're suffering from multiple personality disorder. You're the one who's ill." It all made sense. It finally did. William's anxiousness towards Liam, his claims of being tormented by the malevolent Angelus, his desperate pleads not to hold his brother responsible for what he had done to him. She finally understood her patient's suffering. Will's tormentor was real. Angelus existed. The monster had only taken refuge inside his brother's mind and body. William had not been afflicted by delusions; she had been suffering from temporarily blindness for her not to see the monster hidden beneath the calm and amiable surface of Liam Byron. Buffy could have slapped herself for being this stupid. Only now, after she had invited the mentally unstable brother into her office to confront him fully with the heinous deeds of his alter ego did she find out about the horrific truth.  
  
It would turn out to be too late.  
  
Liam burst into that kind of laughter that was too loud and too indifferent to sound sane under these circumstances. It made her skin rise.  
  
"I told you I wasn't here for my own mental health! It's fucking ironic, isn't it? My own illness has driven my sane brother to the edge of insanity, and he ended up having to be locked up in here, while I - "  
  
He was caught in another laughing fit, staring at the young doctor with mockery in his grim eyes.  
  
"I was the one who was insane! Still am actually! Will was fine before that rather unfortunate accident with his dodgy old car, but before you get the chance; you can't blame me for that. I didn't have anything to do with him loosing control behind the wheel."  
  
"Wait a minute."  
  
He knit his brows as if confused by his own confession.  
  
"I did have something to do with that."  
  
His lips curled into a cold, malevolent grin.  
  
He pulled out the Colt firearm, spun it around his finger and held it up casually, the end of the barrel pointed toward the ceiling. Buffy's face turned white. Her mouth dropped and her blue eyes grew wide in horror.  
  
"Yes, I do remember now. I followed him after he left my apartment. Caught up with the little wuss before he had the chance to get on the highway. There was this part of the road that ran right through a forest. It was totally deserted except for Will's rusty old barrel and my Sedan. I stepped on the gas, drove so close up to his car that I almost hit the bumper, rolled down the window, and -"  
  
He aimed the gun at her, and her heart skipped a beat. She looked into the dark circle of the barrel, and for a moment, she knew for certain that she was going to die.  
  
Liam thumbed back the hammer, his finger tightening around the trigger.  
  
"Pang!"  
  
Her body curled up in fear and she shut her eyes. When the pain didn't come en she still could hear the rattling sounds of her own respiration, she realized that the gun had not been fired.  
  
Yet.  
  
"I didn't want to kill him of course. Not directly. That would have been too suspicious. A bullet of Liam's registered gun right through his thick skull would send the feds right after us within a day. As I used to say to my dear boy, killing is an art that needs a certain amount of fineness, subtlety. One shot at the tires was enough to sent him reeling off the road in murderous speed."  
  
Buffy finally dared to open her eyes again, and as she did she stared right into his broadly smirking face. He had left his seat and stood behind to her now. The cruel glitch in his eyes was not unnoticed.  
  
"Safety was still on. But don't you worry, you'll get your brains blown up against the walls by the end of our little private session. Promised."  
  
"Angelus." She whispered.  
  
His smirk pulled wider into a grin, and he lifted his dark brows as if thrilled.  
  
"Please to finally meet you, Dr Summers. Although I'm sure that the pleasure is all mine."  
  
TBC  
  
I'm sorry for the lack of updates, but I've been busy like hell. However, the Holidays are finally here and I've some time between making up with my girlfriend for neglecting her the last couple of months and visiting my parents to actually do some writing. So the next update will be here before the end of the week! Till then, merry Xmas everybody!!!  
  
Cheers Richard 


	21. ACT 21: And So It Ends part II

TITLE: "Normal again" (9/9) part II (Because of length, cut in three parts.)  
  
AUTHOR: Richard Bachman  
  
EMAIL: bachman_rchard@hotmail.com  
  
SITE: nope  
  
FEEDBACK: Give it to me luv, you know you want more of this.  
  
DISTRIBUTION: Do whatever you like poodle. As long as Richard is mentioned I'm fine.  
  
SUMMARY: Based on the episode Normal Again. Instead of Buffy, Spike was poisoned by the demon and his consciousness was transported into an alternative reality where he found himself incarcerated in an asylum.  
  
THANK YOU: For your patience, your support and your comments on the story.  
  
  
  
ACT 9; And so it ends (part II).  
  
SCENE 3  
  
He led me into a nosy white room with lots of weirdoes, pushed me into a chair and told me to sit there quietly while he was going to get someone in authority to see me. I figured he was talking about my ol' Sire so I just nodded and let him go get the wanker. While Mike was away, I hummed a childish little tune that Luce sang into my head and was sort of feeling all right. At least I was at ease, not too anxious or anything. The railroad spike was still missing. I had no other weapon left on me but my own fists and fangs, and even about that I couldn't be entirely sure since I didn't know if I was able to shift into my game face in this creepy place. But like I said, I wasn't afraid. Luce was there with me, and she would tell what I had to do.  
  
She was taking care of everything.  
  
I didn't need to worry.  
  
I was no longer wussy little William, pushed around, spit on, walked over like a muddy second hand rug. Forced to service the grand pillock under threat of unbearable torture. I was no longer the scared, runaway fledgling trying to survive in the London gutter. I was my own man now. Thanks to Luce. I've killed about everyone who had wronged me in the past. But that past no longer mattered, what mattered was that I was strong.  
  
In control.  
  
Invulnerable.  
  
Angelus was going to pay for all the crap I was forced to swallow, all the humiliation I had to take.  
  
I'm Spike, AKA William the Bloody. And I was going to take my bloody revenge on my bloody Sire.  
  
"Hey buddy! You're back again!"  
  
I blinked my eyes, that voice that wasn't exactly Luce's was kind of distracting me from my Big Evil Moment.  
  
"You made it! Here, hold this. I've got my arms and folds completely packed."  
  
Someone dropped shiny crispy bags on my lap, handed me two bottles of icy liquid, and plopped into the chair next to me. I turned my head and stared right into a wrinkled mount of sheer goofiness.  
  
"I thought you were going to miss this. Dr Summers told me only this morning that you still needed to rest and was in no shape to watch the "Passions" marathon with us, but here you are, right on time! It's going to start a little earlier, at four o'clock sharp. They're going to show the two all time favourite episodes."  
  
"Clem?" I watched in horror how my demon mate dropped the large family bags of crisps and popcorn on the floor in front of him and then picked the tiny packages of assorted nibbley things out of the folds of his forearms. "Clem, what are you doing here?"  
  
"Em, Will? Buddy? Still a little wonky from the pills huh? Oh, never mind. It's not like you've never confused me for body else before. Remember that time you've put your chamber-pot over your head and told me I looked like a really ugly version of Winston Churchill?"  
  
The smile he gave me made new lines on his skin, and he looked like a wrinkled prune with floppy rabbit ears. He pulled something metal and shiny out of his folds and took over the bottles from me.  
  
"Here, let me open this for you."  
  
I recognized the fizzy sound as the gas escaped and he handed me back my Coke. I stared at it with what should be an incredibly moronic expression on my face, for he looked at me for a moment, and then made a drinking gesture with his hand. I brought the bottle to my lips and took a sip, while keeping a cautious eye on my demon pale.  
  
Clem kept grinning his pointy teeth bare.  
  
"Better?"  
  
I nodded, didn't even notice before how thirsty I was. I took another swig and licked the sweet taste of it from my crusted lips.  
  
" Dr Summers, she was really worried about you."  
  
"Dr Summers?" The name rang a distant bell, but Luce was still chanting and I had trouble tuning in on the frequency of my scrambled mush of a brain. Why did everybody I met in this crackers place either want to show me to her or inform me about her?  
  
"Will, buddy, do you really need to answer me with a question every time I try to get a normal sentence out of you? Anyway. She was all concerned that you wouldn't be able to pull through. I saw her rushing up and down the ward this morning, keeping an eye on you all the time. I thought you would like to know. You're always complaining that she doesn't see you for what you are. For what you are worth."  
  
"Summers." I whispered. "Know that name." I shut my eyes and tried hard to remember, to fill in the blank voids. Summers. Summers. It was not only familiar, but oddly, the name carried something, a sense of comfort, and misery. Still, it didn't bring back a face to my mind. Only a truckload of messy feelings. They hurt, and I bloody well started to doubt if I was sure that I wanted to know who it was that had cause me such heartache.  
  
"She does care about you, you know. I saw it on her. The way she looked when I came into your room the other day, when you were still lying on your bed with that vacant stare in your eyes. She just looked like my cousin Betty when her mom died."  
  
Suddenly, I realized who she was, and I saw her right before me; a radiant figure, surrounded by a bright and blinding light, dressed in a long white lab-coat, her long hair brushed back in a ponytail.  
  
- Don't be afraid, William. Sunlight won't hurt you. You're not a vampire. You're not a monster. -  
  
-You're a good man. -  
  
"Buffy -"  
  
"Thank God! You still remember her. I would really start to worry if you don't."  
  
"Buffy, she doesn't belong here." I said, hesitatingly. "She can't be here. She will be in danger if she was."  
  
Clem listened to me and winced as if stung by a bee. "Wooh buddy! Don't start rambling again! At least don't let Mike hear you like this when he's back if you wanne stay here with us to catch the show."  
  
"This isn't Angelus' lair." I shook my head in frustration. "Luce lied to me! That double crossing bitch lied to me!!"  
  
"You really should try to keep your cool here. You know how Dr Summers feels about you using the B - word."  
  
"She's going to let me hurt her. Kill her. I'm back! I'm back in the institution, ain't I? I'm bloody insane again!"  
  
Somewhere far back in the dark stinking sewers of my mind, Luce burst into a shrill sardonic laughter.  
  
"Now calm down Will. Nobody is crazy here! Nobody needs to be."  
  
I still saw her before me but her image had changed. She stood there now, bathing in silver moonlight, her skin smooth and slick, with drops of water gliding over her naked form, glittering like stars. The red scarf was draped around her slender neck and slivered all the way down to her collarbone. A trail of crimson not unlike blood.  
  
- Come on Spike. Let's take a walk on the beach. The moon is beautiful tonight. -  
  
- I've a riddle for you. Guess what I am. -  
  
- Guess what you've made me become. -  
  
"What's the matter with him? William? Look at me pale!"  
  
A large hand on my shoulder, shaking me. I hardly noticed. Luce's chanting grew louder now, a monotonous chain of words, wrapping around my wrists, my throat, my ankles. Robbing me from my free will. Dragging me into a black void of apathy. I slipped under an icy surface of a frosted lake, and the room turned dark and cold.  
  
- Murder - Mayhem - Rape - Death - Dread - Suffering - Make them suffer, my sweet. - Make them pay. -  
  
"I didn't do anything, I swear!" From the corners of my eyes, I saw Clem rise up his hands into the air, backing away from me as if I was suffering from the bloody bubonic plague.  
  
"William? William?! Can you hear me?"  
  
"This has nothing to do with the fizzy sugary drink I gave him, right?"  
  
"Will, listen to me. Listen. I have to bring you back to your room for a while. Buffy has no time to see you right now. She's talking to your brother Liam." Mike stared me right into the eyes, and repeated his shaking. "Stay awake buddy. Don't drift away again."  
  
"She - She is with Liam?" I asked. My voice sounded scrambled. A string of noisy bubbled in deep blue waters. From beneath the ice, I saw the distorted image of the orderly behind a frosty wall of shades of white, watching me with alarm.  
  
"Yes. She's going to help you. Both of you. Everything will be all right again, William. You don't need to go back there to hide from your brother anymore."  
  
"Liam?" I whispered. My breath was short of air. The cold stabbed in my lungs and in my ugly dead heart. Buffy was with Liam? Now why does that bleeding notion scare the crap out of me?  
  
You fool! She's with Angelus! - Luce yelled in my ears. Anger made her voice tremble. - He's going to kill her. Don't you see that, you idiot? He's going to kill her to make you suffer! -  
  
"Oh no!" I shouted to Luce, who wouldn't stop and kept yelling at me, pouring poison into my head. "Not Buffy! You promised! You promised to keep her out of this! Angelus - I have to stop him. I have to stop him from hurting her!!"  
  
Mike's eyes grew wide when I suddenly launched at him, my hands folding around his neck as I fought my way out of the paralysing waters, out of the frosted lake that creaked and fragmented, letting in shimmering patches of reality. I was a monster. A drowned ghost of a man who was desperate to crawl back on land. Clinging on to the living, not so much to harm them but badly needing them for my own survival.  
  
"Where is she?!" I spat, spittle flying from my lips, my fingers tightening around his throat. He struggled, his hands clawing over mine. His respiration grew louder as he was seized by panic.  
  
"Will! I can't! I can't breathe!"  
  
"Where is she?!!!" I shook him hard, and his head bobbed, a floppy dandelion in the wind. He gurgled somewhat, a wet noise coming from deep down his throat. His face started to turn red.  
  
"Office - In her office."  
  
"Why did you let him go to her?" I yelled, my voice quivered and my eyes leaked tears. "He's gonna kill her! You murderer! You insensible, unfeeling wanker!!"  
  
I tossed him aside. The room was clear again with all the white overkill and garbage furniture, and as I turned around I saw Clem looking at me, horror in his eyes. I grab hold of my chair and smashed it on an empty seat. The cheap plastic broke into half. I kicked down the neat row of chairs in front of me, didn't gave a bloody shag if they were occupied or not. Rage burned and coloured my world. Crazy bats rolled out of their seats and scurried away from my mindless fury like frightened little rodents. Their faces were hideous, eyes sunken in pale masks of fear as they howled and cried like bloody animals. I had to laugh through my tears. It suited them, the bloody idiots. That thin venire of sanity that made them appear normal had been so rightfully stripped away, and all that now remained were their repulsive and pathetic true forms.  
  
Clem was sitting on his bum on the floor, gob-smacked. His mouth full of pointy teeth kept open in a razor sharp O.  
  
"Oh man!" He then muttered. "This is going to get you in so much trouble! Really, no more sugar for you, mister!"  
  
I snorted and whipped my head around when I heard a loud noise coming at my left. The recreation room was like a huge pet cage, the door leading into the corridor and away from this soddin place was not so much a door but a fenced metal gate. The kind you found in prisons, zoos, soddin chicken- runs. Only this one was much much bigger and the chickens in here were all heavily defective in their noggins. Orderlies came running down the corridor, coming to see what the racket was all about. They took one look at the miniature disaster area I had created and one glance at Mike, still clawing onto his throat and choking on fresh air, and they took one hard look at me standing there in the midst of the crawling, weeping and drooling lunatics, and draw so their own conclusions on what had happened in here.  
  
Call me crazy, but I was pretty convinced that whatever it was, it wasn't going to lead into me seeing Buffy very soon.  
  
"Mike? Are you all right?" One of them asked. A young nervous looking bloke, pressing his nose on the wire like a brat in the zoo watching the bloody monkeys bash each other brains in. Mike gurgled and groaned a little, sounding much like a car wreck. The orderly shot a real nasty look at me and said. "You! Don't move! We're getting in there!"  
  
Loud rattling of keys. Someone was nervous and dropped it out of his hands. Another was losing his patience and searched his pockets for his own. I sighed and stumbled toward Mike, not so much to hurt him but to make sure that the wanker was still breathing. There was a short, sharp sting of pain cutting through my right foot, and I stopped and looked down, turning my sole upwards. A piece of broken Coca Cola bottle was sticking right out of it, making me bleed nicely. I bit down on my lower lip and yanked it out. It was still a little warm of my blood when I held it in my hand.  
  
That little bit of glass seemed to get the guards real nervous. "Hey! DON'T! DROP THAT! Raise your hands above your head!"  
  
I had bugger intentions to follow his orders. This was the part in about every movie I've seen in which the criminal was taken in, cuffed, dragged away in the pig-mobile. Forced to pay up his dept to bleeding society. The part where the lousy brain-dead writer decided that this was about enough excitement for the kiddies for today and either let the good guys get the bad guy arrested or gun him down or hack him into soddin dog-chow. It's one of the reasons why it was hard for me to like the ending of any movie. Scarface was an exception.  
  
They finally managed to sort the right key. Some fat, potbellied orderly with a red bloated face cramped it into the lock and turned, his pigeon eyes staring at me while bits of spit clung onto his lower lip.  
  
"Don't use that you sick piece of shit! DON'T FUCKING MOVE!!"  
  
I clung onto the shard, my fingers digging in the razor sharp edges till I could feel it cut into my skin. My heart leapt like a horny bunny and I could feel the blood racing through my veins in crazy roller coaster speed.  
  
The gate opened and four white clad, burly men rushed over to me, yelling to everyone else to stay down. I caught a glimpse of a small metal poke that one of them held in his hand, and as he approached, I saw tiny blue sparks coming off the device. Another carried leather straps, ready to use them on my hands and feet. Surely they were going to take me out again. Beat me up, force this stupid git of a sad human waste product into submission. Lock this dangerous madman up in a cage. Throw away the key. Let this offensive useless son of a poxed whore starve of deprivation of human contact.  
  
Surely this was all I ever deserved.  
  
But this was not what SHE deserved.  
  
I could let them overpower me, and then try to explain to them why Liam was not my brother Liam but Angelus the Horny Evil Vampire-Lord from Slayer- land and that Buffy was in real danger right now, that I was the only one who could save her from this evil that was Angelus.  
  
Because I was the one who was really to blame for all this.  
  
Because I listened to Luce instead of William the bloody righteous soul.  
  
Because I loved my phoney Slayer so much that I just had to pick the easy way out and decide to stay here in this moronic dimension rather than to go home. Because I was a weak, egocentric little addict who didn't give a bloody shag for the grand plans of God as long as I could sedate myself, distract myself with a world of easy made believes and crazy silly dreams.  
  
Really, I'm poor little William. Lost in the bordello of Spike's subconscious.  
  
But I bet there wouldn't be enough time for me to explain all this.  
  
In most movies, crazy murderous people don't get a lot of time to explain themselves.  
  
So I did what I had to do to buy a little more time.  
  
I yanked Mike from the floor and grabbed his arms, forced them behind his back and held him in front of me, using him as a shield.  
  
"Don't get any closer." I said, trying to sound real nasty now. The typical British felon. All stiff-upper lip accent and sheer malice, that was what I was looking for. Think Jeremy Irons or Ian McKellen when he was not playing that old fart of a wizard Gandalf. I pushed the shard in Mike's sweaty flesh, just right above the hollow of his collarbone, there where the bleeding would be almost impossible to stop once it had started. The four men stopped dead in their track, eying at me. Their faces reddened and you could tell that they were really pissed off.  
  
"Will, don't do this." Mike muttered. He didn't exactly sound like he was wetting his knickers here, and it was messing big time with the whole Big Bad persona that I was trying to put down. He sounded like a bloody friend who tried to calm me, stop me from doing something completely brainless. As if I didn't know already.  
  
"Drop the shard. No-one needs to get hurt."  
  
I breathed in deep, nostrils flaring, and pushed the jagged rim further into his flesh. A gash of red appeared. The loony Troops saw that and it made them throat-ripping edgy. They didn't know that it was still my blood that was currently staining their colleague's neck.  
  
"You don't know anything." I said. "So why don't you bloody well shut up."  
  
"You're delusional. You're afraid. You're scared out of your wits."  
  
"Oh no, no, no." I shook my head and laughed giddily. "I'm fully awake. I'm finally in control here. I'm not afraid of anything anymore. Just wanne get out. You see, my grand pillock of a Sire, I gotta kill him while I'm still temporarily insane." I sniggered and smiled broadly, baring a lot of teeth and nodded toward the four gorilla-men who were still gawking at me like a pack of hungry hyenas. "Let the Stooges hand me over their keys."  
  
"Will -"  
  
The shard went deeper, and this time, the blood that dripped down his throat and into his collar was really his.  
  
"I want those damn keys. NOW!"  
  
Mike made a frightened sound, not unlike that of a squalling piglet just before it got slaughtered, and the Idiot Team was finally convinced. They reached for they key-bundles in clumsy movements, held them in their shaking hands while their wide eyed gaze was locked on the shard and the blood on Mike's thick sweating bull's neck.  
  
Toss them over the floor in my direction."  
  
They did it, and I bended through my knees to pick them up with Mike still held in front of me like a big heavy lump of sweating ham. His perspiration was starting to soak right through his soggy overall into my shirt, making me feel like a soddin sponge of really bad odours. After I slipped the four sets of keys into my back pocket, I dug my hand into Mike's trousers, looking for his keys. I found them, held them in front of Mike's bloodshot eyes and asked nicely which one it was that I needed to get out of this soddin cage. He was most helpful after I reminded him of his growing flesh wound.  
  
"What are you going to do?" Mike panted as I backed away from the guards and the lunatics, still clutching on to my human shield while I inched my way out. He had calmed down a bit and wasn't yelping any longer, though I rather had he still was. "You can't get out of here! The place is completely locked." He swallowed and I lifted up the harsh edge of the shard somewhat from his throat so he wouldn't cut himself any deeper.  
  
"You can't get out. There's no place you can run to."  
  
"I know." I said, and pushed the key into the rusty padlock and twisted the soddin thing. "I know I'm mad. I know I should stay right here for everybody else's sake." Mike looked at me then with the tiniest spark of hope that I would give up and surrender. That there was still some proper sense left in me to see that this was only going to end in disaster.  
  
But really, that bloke gave me far too much credit.  
  
"I know, and I'm sorry for being this bloody crazy. But I have to do this."  
  
I pushed Mike away from me and he fell, head down first on the worn-out linoleum. Then I grabbed hold of the gate and shut it, my hands trembling as I turned the key in its lock, just in time. Three of the white-heated orderlies rushed over, half tripping over the floor on their paper slippers, moving with all the elegance of a horrific train accident. They all smashed into the wires, their fingers were clanging onto the rust coloured mesh and they were shaking it fiercely.  
  
"You little weasel! Unlock this immediately!"  
  
I watched how they pressed their plump red faces onto the lattice, choking on their anger like mouth foaming dogs, and I grinned.  
  
"You sick little worm! You nutcase!"  
  
"Yeah." I said. "Out of my mind. Back in five minutes."  
  
"Wait till I get my hands on you, you sick shit! You stupid little F*! You F* son of a B*!"  
  
By the time they got to the real nasty ones, I was already halfway down the corridor and on my way to find Buffy.  
  
SCENE 4  
  
"What do you want from me?" She asked. She tried to be calm. Or at least to appear calm. Her eyes followed the gun that he held in his hand with an almost morbid fascination.  
  
"Are you sure he's not coming back to disturb us?" Angelus asked, ignoring her question. "That Mike guy is rude. I don't tolerate rudeness." He fooled around with the gun; aiming it at the glass panel where only a couple of minutes before, the orderly's shadow had appeared when he knocked on the door, asking for the young doctor.  
  
"He won't come back. I told him I would go down to the ward after our meeting."  
  
"And what in hell's name did he need you for again?"  
  
"William. He finally woke up." Her eyes parted from the weapon and gazed up at him for a brief moment. Liam was still somewhere in there. She thought. He must be. Perhaps telling him about his younger brother would bring him back to -  
  
"Will? Is he really back from the dead?" He laughed. "Must be quite an ordeal for the boy. I didn't mean to fuck him up this much. Really, you have to believe me here. There is no fun in getting your cock hot inside a catatonic mental patient. It's no better than violating a rigid corpse."  
  
"Mike asked me to go see him. William needs someone right now to help him to get grounded." She continued in a shivering voice, trying hard not to listen to Angelus heartless comments. She wasn't trying to speak to the vicious monster. She was trying to reach William's brother. "It's not too late. William can still get better."  
  
"He's fucked." Angelus snarled. "One way or another. Liam dumped him like a hot lump of coal, went off for a long quiet stay in denial-country. And soon, you're not going to be around anymore to help him recover. Not fucking likely if it was up to me at least. No, I'm afraid my poor little boy is going to spend the rest of his life as a drooling nutcase."  
  
"He's is your brother." She tried. "He's your family."  
  
"William is my childe. My possession." Angelus leaned over to her. His eyes were dark. "Mine! To break. To destroy. And he's NOT worth anything to me unless he's suffering or in constant pain to amuse me." He gripped her chin, fingers digging into her flesh like claws. "So stop talking about the stupid little shit like he's worth a whole bunch to me. Only a naïve bitch like you would see anything in him."  
  
Numbness spread over her like a blanket. He traced the soft curvatures of her lips with his finger, gently. Almost lovingly.  
  
"What do you want?" She asked again, but now the strength had completely drained out of her words.  
  
SCENE 5  
  
The place was a maze. Every turn I took, every hallway I ran into, they all looked the bloody same. But I kept running, till my legs started to burn and my heart was a mad clattering hump of painful flesh. Till I could hear nothing else but my own blood throbbing through my veins. It wasn't until I reached a point in my reckless escape where I stumbled upon a locked gate, that I realized that I had no soddin clue where Buffy's office was. I had been there only once for one of those private Freudian sessions, and I had spent most of my visit on her plastic covered, stain resistant sofa, ailing on all those nice little pills they had given me to keep me as docile as a cow. Couldn't recall much of the trip getting there. Couldn't remember much of that entire afternoon and the room she was working in apart from that it had a very large window with Venetian blinds. She had slightly parted the slats so I could take a peek outside if I wanted. And I remembered seeing clouds drifting by.  
  
Darkness appeared and disappeared in a flinch, like I had just blinked with my eyes wide open. Somewhere, from the other side of the gate, I heard voices coming.  
  
"How many of us are in there?"  
  
The voices grew louder, and I recognized the Watcher's haughty Oxford accent. Quickly, I slipped behind a trolley filled with laundry, left behind by some lazy nurse. The world blinked again, and I was thinking that there was no soddin way that they were not going to see me sitting here trying to be wall-decoration if they happened to walk by.  
  
"Mike, Greg, and Barry. The whole lot supervising ward D. William Byron locked them up in the recreation facility together with the other patients. Denny is in there too. He went down to check on things and he was the one who made the emergency call."  
  
"What's the matter with these lights? Why are they flickering like this?"  
  
The next thing I knew, everything went black again. Only this time the lights didn't come back. Hunched down, trapping my breath in my lungs, I glared around a heap of acid smelling bed sheets and realized that neither the watcher nor me could see a bloody fag around here. Keys rattled, hinges shrieking as the gate blew open, footsteps of the whole soddin Cavalry of Captain Giles, coming to the rescue. Some bloke almost tripped and cursed loudly.  
  
"Bloody hell! This is just perfect. First that vicious harpy's predictions become reality and now this, a bloody power cut! Honestly, this place is a madhouse."  
  
I stayed where I was and waited till they were all gone. After they galloped right pass me, coming so close that the air they moved brushed like a draft over the hairs on the bare parts of my arms and legs, after the clapping sound of their paper scandals died down, and after I allowed myself to breathe, that was the very daft moment in which my very own personal torment demons decided to show their tight semi-translucent Victorian asses again to complicate things even more.  
  
"Going somewhere William?" Priscilla Schnubly asked. Her eyes narrowed till they were tiny reptilian slits. From the corner of her puss infested mouth hung the naked tail of a mouse.  
  
"You're not trying to get out, are you?" Steven Rathbone asked, carelessly twisting the tips of his ridiculously large moustache while pale maggots fell out of his one dead eye. They landed just before my feet, and I wriggled my toes uneasily.  
  
"I have to get to Angelus." I said, not knowing exactly why I bothered to explain it to them. There was only so little time. I wrapped my fingers tighter around the broken piece of glass. The blood that seeped between my knuckles was nice and warm.  
  
"Oh Steven, my dear, I know what this mischievous man is up to! He's trying to save her!" Priscilla giggled in delight. "That girl with the harlot lips and the blond hair. He's trying so very hard to find her before his Sire -"  
  
"Before he's going to do what?" I asked, a bit frightened.  
  
"You poor, delusional fool." Priscilla cooed, treacherously gently. "Poor poor William. Did you forget how Angelus was in his pre-soul days? Why, wasn't he even a bigger monster than you ever were?"  
  
"Your Sire was very gifted in obliterating lives." Rathbone said. "In destroying hope, leaving nothing but darkness in the hearts of his victims. How else, you reckon, did Drusilla ever become this mad?"  
  
I stumbled back on my feet, half dragging myself up, leaning on the trolley.  
  
"I must find her! Tell me where I can find her!!"  
  
Priscilla smiled coldly at me. Not talking much.  
  
"Please! look, I'm sorry I left you like that so you had to suck your meals through a straw for the rest of eternity, I'm sorry for stuffing you full with rodents! But whatever grudge you hold against me, you cannot let him hurt her! My wrongs got nothing to do with Buffy! The punishment is mine to suffer! I'm the one who needs a good caning! But please, I beg you. Leave her out of this. Tell me where I can find her!"  
  
The black ends of the thread that I had used to sew her lips together started to crawl over the raw flesh like worms, digging in and coming out again, sealing her mouth shut. She put a bony finger on her lower lip, a gesture meaning that she would forever keep her silence and then she vanished.  
  
I screamed in utter frustration, barely able to muffle the crazy sound of it as I forced a hand on my mouth.  
  
"Don't despair like that my good fellow. You still have the chance to save her."  
  
I turned to the ghost of Steven Rathbone, he was still drifting in front of me, shimmering with this faint pale glow in a darkness that seemed to have swallowed up the whole place.  
  
"Please." I muttered, definitely begging now. "Tell me. Tell me where I can find her."  
  
Rathbone shook his head, grimly. "I can't tell you that William! Priscilla will be furious. I'm afraid you have to find her yourself. However, I can give you this."  
  
He grabbed the end of the spike that was buried in his skull with one hand, laid his other on his deformed eye and pulled. A flood of maggots and disgusting unnameable black gore gushed out of the wound, and they fell on the ground with the same clatter as good shower hitting the streets.  
  
"Here."  
  
He pushed the murder weapon in my hands. The sharp piece of glass that I held was gone. The railroad spike was blackened by crusted blood, and in the shimmering blue light of Rathbone's ghostly manifestation, it looked like its metal was bleeding as my hand was covered with oozing gashes, keeping my palm and fingers drenched in blood.  
  
"A friend of yours told me to give this to you. She thought you might lose of it after you made the transition."  
  
Luce. Good ol' Luce. She told me she would take care of things.  
  
"This isn't gonna help much, is it, if I've got no soddin clue where to find my peachy Sire to shove it through his heart!" I raged.  
  
Rathbone's features turned pained, and that was when you could make yourself to ignore the large pestering hole that was now in his face.  
  
"William, my dear fellow. I can't help you more than that. You know how Priscilla is."  
  
"Pure bitterness and out on sworn retribution. Got that already."  
  
"She's going to nag me right out of my grave if I told you."  
  
"Please, you have to give me something."  
  
"William."  
  
"A tiny hint. That's all I ask."  
  
Rathbone looked at me and sighed, then rolled his eyes. "All right. Go to the elevators. Go up. She isn't on this floor. Besides, you've been running in crazy circles for the last ten bloody minutes. Seriously my dear lad, your sense of direction is utterly -"  
  
Before he could finish his sentence, the floor split open from right where he stood and a terrible shriek came from beneath the widening cleft, till it had grown into what it seemed like a bottomless abyss. Blinding cobalt light flooded into the corridor. A hand appeared that was more a claw than a hand, yellow skin wrapped around the brittle looking bones like an ill fitting glove made out of dry paper.  
  
"Oh Priscilla!" Rathbone screamed before the vindictive claw-thing grabbed him by the ankle and dragged him down to join her. To nag him into a second death, I reckon. "Priscilla!" He said. "For God's sake! Stop being such a drama queen!"  
  
And then he disappeared, the opening closing swiftly behind him.  
  
"Right." I mumbled. "I have as much sense of direction as a headless chicken. Guess you're right about that." But there was nothing left in the darkness for me to talk to. Only myself.  
  
Harris would call this an early sign of dementia. I knew better of course.  
  
Following the green, lit up signs of the funny looking stick man running to the exit, my left hand tracing the wall and my right clutching on to the railroad spike that kept bleeding warm blood, I moved, as quickly as I could, into the direction of the elevators.  
  
SCENE 6  
  
The green track of pictograms ended near an unlocked door that lead into a dimly lit stairwell with a seemingly endless flight of stairs. Next to it were two elevators. Their metal doors were closed. The red digital signs indicating the current floor number were giving two very puzzling zeros. It made sense though. A power cut meant that there was no electricity to run the soddin elevators. I figured I had to take the stairs.  
  
But then the elevator at my right swung open accompanied by the civilized ringing of a little bell.  
  
Didn't even have to push in any buttons.  
  
The small, mirror panelled space inside was lit by a sickly fluorescent glow. I stepped inside, my nerves twitching. Swiftly, I glanced over the penal with the neat rows of numbers. There were thirty-four floors in total. Thirty-three ways for me to screw things up and get her killed. How the hell could I know which button was the right one to push?  
  
"Please." I muttered, aware I was talking aloud again and that there was nobody else around, but I got a gut feeling that someone would be able to hear me despite that.  
  
"Please. You made me come this far. At least have the soddin decency to help me out just this one last time."  
  
The doors shut themselves and from the thirty-four possible destinations displayed on the panel, only lit up. Number twenty-six. I recalled the clouds drifting by her window. At least it seemed that the little information I had matched with what Luce was offering. Maybe she was really trying to help me save Buffy.  
  
The whole thing started to move.  
  
SCENE 7  
  
What happened after came so quickly and so many horrible events took place in such a short time, that he had difficulty remembering, even in the agonizingly long weeks afterwards, when he was finally committed into Dr Walsh ward and had all the time in the world left to let the realization of what he had done, haunt him and drive him into desolation.  
  
First, there had been a terrifying scream. That he could remember. It shattered the silence outside in the darkness as soon as the mechanical doors of the elevator slid open and he stepped into the blackened corridor. His hand stretched out from his side, trying to find his way, he tried to run and stumbled like a blind man. His fingers brushed the surface of several doors that he passed, then a long stretch of tiles. After he made a turn, another scream was heard. There was no doubt in his mind that it was Buffy. The second part of the hallway was dimly lit. The doors here all had frosted glass panels, leaking in a small amount of daylight that flooded from windows inside the rooms. Behind the third door on his right, a tall shadow loomed behind the glass.  
  
He didn't hesitate, rather lifted up the railroad spike, bracing himself for what was to come, and with his other hand he pushed open the door.  
  
The room was shrouded in a gloom with the blinds rolled down and shut. There were loose papers and files scattered carelessly over the floor. A chair had been thrown over. Somewhere in this mess he found the remains of a telephone, its plastic case completely smashed to show its ruined wirings.  
  
She sat on the plastic covered sofa, her hands and feet tied together with torn pieces of her lab coat. There were bruises on her face and there was a long red slash running all the way from her left cheek to her neck. The moment she saw him, her glazed eyes grew wide and she started to scream.  
  
"William! Get out of here!"  
  
"Buffy?!" His mind was in absolute confusion. He couldn't perceive anything else but her presence.  
  
"HE HAS A GUN!"  
  
A loud blast, a sound like thunder when Angelus drew his .357 and fired. Finally, William's instincts kicked in and he flung himself down to the floor. The bullet missed his head by an inch as he went down and it exploded above him, sending bits of wood from the damaged door flying through the air. Another shot followed, and another, both aimed lower now. William covered his head in fright and tried to crawl underneath the great oaken desk in the middle of the room to find shelter from his tormenter's violent onslaught. One bullet nearly hit him in his leg and blew up a part of the floor merely a foot away from him.  
  
It was like he had died and had been cast into hell.  
  
"William!" Angelus roared, his voice dripping with joyful malice. "Glad to see you lad! Already recovered from my little punishment, I see." He fired a shot just when William dodged under the desktop, huddling his body into a shivering form to avoid the deadly bullets. It hit the edge of a beam close to his right ear and the frightened young man let out a shrill cry.  
  
"Stop this!" Buffy cried, she had watched with growing despair how Angelus was cruelly hunting him down like an frightened animal in his ruthless game. "You heartless monster!" She shouted. "STOP SHOOTING AT HIM!"  
  
"One more shot." Angelus suddenly ceased fire and with a calm pace, walked towards him. He was still huddled underneath Buffy's desk, both hands pushed against his ears to block out the horrible explosions, more or less paralysed. Angelus saw that his deranged boy was clutching on to something, a blackened piece of metal with a wedge-sharp point. His hands, shirt and trousers were smeared with blood. His fingers were covered with cuts. He was panting loudly and his eyes showed nothing else but crushing fear. It was then that Angelus was struck by a cruel sense of delight. For a moment, he had been afraid that the boy would become a threat to him, to his liberation of his moral counterpart that he loathed and hated with his whole black heart. But as he observed him now, this trembling heap of misery, this broken human being with such a pathetic state of mind, he could merely laugh at his own ridiculous idea. William could not be a real threat to anyone. He was too insignificant and weak. Angelus looked down at his boy and grinned.  
  
"One more shot." He repeated. "I've always loved to watch the crazy inmates dance in Bedlam's dungeons." His gun roared as he fired a series of shots, all aimed at William's legs. His victim tried to avoid them, frantically moving his limps, struggling backwards on his hands and buttocks while facing him with large frightened eyes. "Dance for me boy!" Angelus shouted above the thunderous sounds, showing a hateful smile.  
  
When one of the three bullets that were fired hit William in the side of his leg and scattered his joints, the pain of it struck his body with strong convulsions, and the fear, the deadening gripping fear that he had felt ever since he entered the room and was forced to face his demonic Sire was simple surpassed by immense agony and the rush of adrenalin that took hold of him. William let out a wretched cry. It startled Buffy, who was now struggling up from the couch only to fall half way down on the floor as her restrains withheld her from being able to walk or even stand.  
  
"No! Don't! Don't you hurt him! Stop it! STOP IT! STOP IT!!!!"  
  
Her cries were shrill, full of rage and drowned in tears. Angelus merely ignored her, spun the gun around, and used the solid handle to hit William with it on his head. He struck him full on his temple, and William collapsed, his head sunk over his chest and his body fell limply to the ground.  
  
"Such a useless, spineless boy." Angelus mused, and struck him again. "Always a weakling. Even when you were still a real vampire, not the neutered little bastard that you are now."  
  
The back of the gun smashed on his cheeks.  
  
"All those times in the past that you dared to defy me."  
  
The metal came down on his throat and he wheezed and coughed, tasting his own blood on his tongue.  
  
"All those ill-prepared attempts to escape from me."  
  
William's head swung to one side as he was struck on his other temple. Blood was now dripping from one ear.  
  
"You crawled home to me just the same every time after you proved yourself to be a total failure."  
  
The beating had stopped. William was hardly aware of it. Angelus stood there over his bloodied victim, breathing loudly through his nostrils, his chest heaving. He grabbed hold of his Childe's arm and dragged him from underneath the desk toward the couch. William kept entirely still. He was like a ragged doll or a corpse. Not moving. Hardly breathing or making any sounds. He left some blood behind on the papers that lay spread out around him and he only blinked once when he saw his name printed on a file. Patient 17, he read, William August Byron. Initial Diagnosis: Schizophrenia.  
  
Family: One Sibling. Liam.  
  
Quickly, he averted his eyes away from the document.  
  
Angelus looked down at him, cold and forbidding. Then he crouched down beside his broken body, his lips twisted in grin.  
  
"What did you think you could do to stop me?" He was close to him now, glooming over, panting his hot breath down on his wounds. His chest was still straining from his efforts to chastise him. There was this smell, this scent of freshly ploughed earth and wet moss-covered stones; the memory of graves. The very scent that hung around him on that unfortunate night (or was it fortunate? Luce whispered.) he bumped into the vampires of Aurelius. It happened so very long ago, but it was still a memory that was all but lost.  
  
"Please. Don't hurt him anymore. You're killing him. Please. You're killing him."  
  
Angelus looked up for a moment, gazing at her with amusement. Buffy had forced herself on her knees, her cheeks damp with tears. The pain that tormented her was plainly written on her face.  
  
"Well, isn't that striking?" He said, addressing his childe, while his eyes devoured her. "Isn't that just fucking ironic? This girl, she really does feel something for you, doesn't she? She really does love you. First I thought it was just some overdeveloped nursing instinct that had driven her into all of that stomach-turning behaviour, but now I'm really convinced. I mean, look at her!"  
  
He gripped William's chin and forced him to look up, and he gazed at her with a lost look in his eyes.  
  
"All those tears, all that suffering, just because she saw you suffer. Just because she cared. Wasn't that what you had always wanted? Somebody who truly cared? A girl that you could love and who was not prejudiced or mad or simply sick of you enough to turn her back on you?"  
  
There was a slight flickering in his eyes and a weak movement in his throat, but except for that, there came no other reaction.  
  
"You must be one lucky chap to find this crazy dimension. Really. I mean come on, admit it boy! Where else in this whole fucked up universe are you gonna find another manifestation of the Slayer who's willing to love this sad miserable evil thing? This monster of a man!"  
  
The hand-muscles around the railroad spike strained. He had been clutching on to it, even during the merciless beating. It was like it had been stuck to his skin.  
  
"It must break your heart to see her like this. Just as you are breaking hers."  
  
Angelus came really close now, his face half hidden by its own shadows. His eyes narrowed, and for a moment, William thought he saw them flashing gold.  
  
"How would you feel if I used her? Do you remember Dru, my boy? Remember how I used to force you to watch? As I penetrated her. Tore her insides open till she screamed and cried and blood was flowing all over her legs? Imagine that happening to your Slayer. Imagine how that would make you feel."  
  
William squeezed his injured hand around the metal, and dark blood oozed out of the many cuts.  
  
Angelus' eyes lifted from him, and he looked at the girl with all the malice of a hungry predator, ready to devour his prey. "Imagine it now you still can. Soon enough you'll be forced to watch it for real."  
  
A single moment of distraction was all he needed, and suddenly William came back from his unresponsive state and thrust the railroad spike straight into his demonical Sire's heart.  
  
  
  
TBC  
  
One more to go. Please be patient, working on it already. Meanwhile, go to my author's settings page, I've got a little announcement to make.  
  
Cheers R 


	22. ACT 22: And So It Ends part III

TITLE: "Normal again" (9/10) part III  
  
AUTHOR: Richard Bachman  
  
EMAIL: bachman_rchard@hotmail.com  
  
SITE: nope  
  
FEEDBACK: Give it to me luv, you know you want more of this.  
  
DISTRIBUTION: Do whatever you like poodle. As long as Richard is mentioned I'm fine. SUMMARY: Based on the episode Normal Again. Instead of Buffy, Spike was poisoned by the demon and his consciousness was transported into an alternative reality where he found himself incarcerated in an asylum.  
  
THANK YOU: For all of your patience, your support and your comments on the story.  
  
WARNING: (Multiple) Character death.  
  
Witness ACT 9; And so it ends (part III).  
  
  
  
SCENE 8  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Like a false guard, false watch keeping  
  
Still in strife, she whispered peace  
  
She would sing while I was weeping  
  
If I listened, she would cease.  
  
False was she, and unrelenting  
  
When my last joys strewed the ground  
  
Even sorrow saw, repenting  
  
Those sad relics scattered round.  
  
Hope, whose whisper would have given  
  
Balm to all my frenzied pain  
  
Stretched her wings, and soared to heaven  
  
Went, and never returned again.  
  
  
  
Hope - Emily Brontë, 1846  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
He watched how the black metal disappeared inside Angelus' chest. Blood spurted outward in a little stream, and a red stain bloomed like a rose on his Sire's shirt. Angelus' eyes flicked down, his mouth drew open as if trying to scream, but the only sound that he was able to utter was a slow wet gurgling. His hand shook violently as he raised it, his movement sluggish, and touched where the iron railroad spike lay imbedded inside his flesh. He blinked as he lifted his hand and saw it tainted deep crimson. He looked as if he was surprised by this injury. Then blood gushed from his mouth, and he slumped, his entire weight crushing down on his Childe, who kept watching his Sire's demise with wide shocked eyes, his hands still resting on the slippery end of the metal.  
  
It was only when Angelus' blood dripped from his lips into William's eyes that he was abruptly pulled out of his stun, and he pushed off the dying body in an almost terrified motion. He rolled away from underneath, barely able to muffle a cry as the taller man's legs sagged over his own injured limp. He crawled away from the motionless figure, bits of blood-tainted documents sticking on to his sweat and blood rusted clothes as he moved toward Buffy, who was now inching toward him despite of her restrains, her face awfully pale.  
  
"Buffy" He whispered, and ran his hand through her hair that pasted down over her face in damp strings. "Buffy are you all right? Please tell he didn't hurt you, please tell me he didn't, please." He untied her hands and feet while he kept murmuring to her. When she didn't react, he gently caressed her face, wiping his blood over her flushed cheeks as he tried to stop her stream of tears. Buffy looked at him, her expression blank, but as she listened to his whispered words her resolve broke down and she slumped over to him, pressing herself against his shaking form and started sobbing.  
  
"Don't cry." William begged, frightened by her tears. He was so confused. "Please don't cry. Don't. No need to. Not anymore."  
  
He wrapped his hands around her, and held her as if she was a small child that needed comforting, just like she had held him so many times before, and slowly, gently, he started rocking her in his arms.  
  
From over his shoulder, Buffy could see through the haze of her tears Angelus' still form, lying face down on a pile of cluttered documents. A dark stain appeared underneath him, spreading itself in a wide circle over the white sheets of paper.  
  
"What have you done." She whispered, her voice almost impassive as if frozen.  
  
He gave no answer and kept cradling her in his arms. She pushed herself away from his embrace and stared in his face. He looked at her, his eyes big and frightened. He seemed so small, almost like a child.  
  
"Oh William, what have you done."  
  
"I didn't -" He hesitated. He couldn't explain to her what he had done. He hardly understood it himself. He had killed. He had murdered the one man that had been a brother and a friend to him ever since he could remember his own existence. All these memories, of a shared childhood, of friendship, of being a family, seemed all that remained after the anger and fear for the monster had disappeared, after all the dark nightmare visions of the demon Angelus had died with one thrust through the heart. He couldn't make himself to turn around to look at the body. It was Liam's body now that lay there, becoming cold and rigid, as the life's spirit leaked away in flows of crimson. How could he explain it to her, how could he still tell her that he was a good man?  
  
How could she ever be able love this monster?  
  
"I didn't want to -" He finally whispered, his throat working. "Oh God, Buffy I didn't want to -" He broke down in tears, his by guilt tormented mind close to being ruined. "Don't tell me I'm a monster Buffy! Don't tell me I'm an evil soulless thing! I did this, I did this only so he wouldn't hurt you, I wanted to kill him and I was bad, Buffy. I was a bad man because I wanted revenge and I wanted to hate, I was so stupid, SO STUPID! To listen to those voices, listen to her, but I won't, not anymore, I will be good. Buffy I can be good, I promise. Please I beg you, don't leave me, don't, please, don't tell me I'm a monster, don't tell me I'm beneath you! See me, you have to See me, you're the only one who ever could. I'm not a bad man Buffy, I'm not a bad man.."  
  
He kept his eyes to the ground, afraid to look into hers. His shoulders sagged and shook violently as he was struck by grief. "Liam." He muttered. "Poor Liam. Oh God!"  
  
He covered his face with his blood-drenched hands, and sobbed silently. Dark thoughts clouded his mind that was now awfully still. No more chanting, no more whispers. Everything inside was silent and dead like a grave.  
  
She placed her soft hands on his cheeks. It surprised him that she still wanted to touch him.  
  
"Shshsh." She wrapped her arms him, and pressed her chin on his head. "It's all right. It's okay. I won't leave you."  
  
She held his body closer to her now, caressing him quietly, calmly, easing away his anxiety. They sat there for a while, holding each other in the darkness of the room with only her gentle words breaking the silence.  
  
"Shshshsh. Quiet now. There are no demons, no voices anymore. Everything is quiet."  
  
His sobbing finally ceased. He tilted his chin and looked up at her.  
  
"I won't leave you." She whispered. "I would never leave you."  
  
Her eyes, beautiful and deep, they were still like before. They had not changed.  
  
"I love you, William."  
  
She still saw him.  
  
In her eyes, he was still a good man.  
  
A smile dawned on her lips. She was so lovely when she smiled. Her smile could brighten his darkest moods. She tilted her head to one side and her hand lifted to caress his cheek. Her movements were slow but elegant, like in a dream. To him, it was a dream. Everything besides her had ceased to exist. But then the broadening smile on her face suddenly froze. Her eyes grew wide. He didn't understand this. Hardly heard the roaring of the gunshot behind him. He stared at Buffy and didn't understand why she wasn't smiling at him anymore, but couldn't hear her shouting at him. Her mouth moved, but there was no sound. Everything was silent. She threw herself over his body, protecting him from the bullet that was meant to take his life, but instead hit her now in the back and pierced her spine.  
  
Buffy slumped against his shoulders. Her hands slipped down, letting go of him, and sagged till they hung limply by her side. Then she fell. He watched how she fell and it seemed to take forever and ever. Her hand brushed over his arm as she fell, and when she was finally down on the floor, William saw how her eyes kept looking at him. Seeing him. And then they closed.  
  
No, he thought, this can't be. Not possible. She said she would never leave. Never die. She died before. She can't come back. She can't die. She loved me. She loves me.  
  
"WILLIAM!"  
  
Angelus, swaying on his feet, his hand pressing onto his wound, blood escaping between his trembling fingers. He stumbled toward him with his gun raised and already thumbing back the hammer.  
  
On the spot where he had fallen, there lay not the blackened piece of iron, the railroad spike William thought that he had used as a weapon to bring his Sire's demise, but a short red tainted glass shard. It had been discarded. It had only penetrated a few inches into Angelus' flesh and ruptured his lungs, but it had never been able to reach his heart.  
  
"WILLIAM!!" He roared, and dark spittle flew from his lips as he spoke his name like a curse. "YOU TREACHEROUS RAT!!!"  
  
William flashed his eyes up to the murderous vampire and saw him holding the gun.  
  
He killed her.  
  
His thoughts went wild, uncontrollable as they were mangled in this torturous pain and anger.  
  
HE KILLED HER!!  
  
His face abruptly changed from grief-struck into something terrible, and when Angelus was close enough and pulled the trigger he was suddenly hit by fear as he saw the look in his Childe's eyes.  
  
There was madness and death in those cold piercing eyes.  
  
This time, as the gun roared and the shot was fired, William was aware of his peril and dodged, flinging his body to the side. The bullet missed him completely and Angelus let out an enraged scream. With bloodshot eyes, he scanned the floor for William's movements, and once again he raised his weapon and aimed at his Childe's head.  
  
Before he could pull the trigger for a second time, William launched himself at his legs, smashing his shoulders against the kneecaps. Angelus swayed, and fell down to the floor with the murder-weapon still clutched in his hand.  
  
"NO!" He bellowed, a deranged anger burning inside. His eyes flashed gold in the shadow that swept over his face as William loomed over and to smash his temple. "YOU KILLED HER!" His maddened Childe shouted, and his hands flew around his neck. "SHE LOVED ME!!" William yelled, and tears started to fall. "SHE LOVED ME AND YOU KILLED HER!!" His grip was cold, his fingers were like knives, cutting through the weak tissue till they reached bone. Angelus struggled for breath, legs and arms moving, shuddering violently. Such impudence! He thought hatefully. Despite of the agony and fear, he was enraged. How dare he! How dare he to defy him!! Him! Angelus! Without him he would have been nothing! Nothing but a long since deceased Victorian ghost! The claws on his neck then started to crush his bones. Angelus clutched with one hand onto his Childe's face, and pushed his fingers into the eyes. NOTHING! YOU'RE NOTHING AND NEVER WILL YOU BECOME MORE THAN THAT!! And the words sounded like thunder in his head, but from his lips, they parted in a weak whisper as his already wounded lungs were in a desperate need for oxygen.  
  
"MURDERER!!"  
  
William struck him on his cheek. His head swayed to the side by the violent impact. Lines blurred for a moment. Then, as his vision steadied, he saw his arm stretched out in front, holding on to the gun. With an enraged roar he swung it toward William's head to smash it.  
  
William was captured in a dream again. No, not a dream, a nightmare. But as he saw Angelus raise his arm that was holding the weapon, his hands slipped off his Sire's throat and seized it, capturing his wrist. Bones there were fragile. They broke so easily. He twisted Sire's hand and there was a most delicious sound, a crackling like burning timber on a warm fire. A cry then followed, but to William that cry had no meaning.  
  
Angelus' grip over the weapon faltered, and suddenly, William found himself holding it. The smooth warm metal lay in his hand and waited, eager to be used. Like in a dream, he lowered it then, aiming it at the face of the monster, aiming it at his brother's face. Hazel eyes grew large. Harsh lines disappeared around the corners of the mouth, his brows, and with that, cruelty seeped away from his features. Gone was his destructive hate and rage. And suddenly, all there was left was this man, lying on his back in front of him, wounded and scared and bleeding, nursing the broken wrist with his good hand.  
  
This man stared into the barrel of the gun he held, petrified, then he gazed up, wary and confused as if he had just awakened from a deep sleep, and a trace of relief flashed in his eyes as he recognized him.  
  
"Will?" Liam's voice trembled, but there was no more fear, only confusion. "William? What happened? I can't remember."  
  
William's dream was shattered. The man's words pierced through his dream like bullets ripped through flesh.  
  
"No." William muttered, and shook his head, fervently. "No no no no no no. You can't. You can't do this."  
  
He fired. The loud blast made him flinch and he squinted his eyes. Tiny specks of blood rained on his face like a fountain.  
  
Then it was silent again.  
  
He stood there for a while, not moving, hardly aware of the slow trickle of warm blood running down his ruined leg, not noticing that he was trembling and panting like wolf. He stood there and stared at nothing but darkness, listened to nothing but darkness. Somehow, he thought that he finally was at peace.  
  
But then a sound came, a shift of flesh over fabric, hustling paper, followed by a soft sigh. He turned around, slowly. The gun was suddenly heavy, a weight too great to bear for his blood drenched hand. He dropped it.  
  
A second sigh, followed by a weak pull of breath. William struggled toward the source of those tiny sounds, slightly limping. Behind the ruined desk, in front of the couch, Buffy was still lying on her side, the collar and the back of her shirt tainted dark, but her chest was rising and falling in a weak pace.  
  
"Buffy!"  
  
She didn't open her eyes and William dropped on his knees in front of her. Gently, he lifted her head and held her in his lap, caressing her damp hair and face to comfort her. Her lips were moving and she was whispering something. He brought his ear close to her lips and listened. Her breath was still warm, but however hard he tried, however quiet he forced himself to be, he couldn't hear what she was trying to tell him. Her voice had already grown too weak to be understood.  
  
What he did understand was that she was dying.  
  
She was dying in his arms and there was nothing, nothing he could do to save her.  
  
He shut his eyes, tears burning behind them, and he saw, he remembered what he had witnessed once in that frightening dream, that nightmare vision. Buffy, floating on her back in a black silver sea. Her body motionless as she was dragged further and further away from him by the waves. And then a merciless sun, that rose above the water and burnt her, destroyed her, right before his eyes.  
  
"Don't go." And his tears fell on her cheek, glided down her chin and ran down into her neck. "Don't leave me. You promised you wouldn't. Please. I can never be anyone without you." His fingers traced his tears along her skin, along the frail muscles of her neck. He remembered the scarf that she had worn that night, in his dream. That crimson scarf taken from one of their victims, slivering down her pale neck like flowing blood. His hand trembled as he found the pulse underneath her skin. It was so weak, so fragile. So close to death. "I won't let you leave me." He said, and he swallowed, tightening his jaws. "I won't let you die again."  
  
He found the shard half buried underneath the tarnished documents. He brought it with him as he went back to her. Holding her gently, he loosened the first two buttons of her shirt, and tilted her head slightly to bare her throat. Buffy's eyelids fluttered as he did this, and a soft moan escaped her lips.  
  
"Shshshsh." He comforted her. "Quiet luv. It's all right. Everything is going to be all right again."  
  
He pressed a tender kiss on her forehead and said. "I won't let you die. I promise I'll take care of you. I'll take care of you forever."  
  
And slowly, carefully, he used the shard to cut a small wound in the soft skin of her neck.  
  
  
  
SCENE 9  
  
The moment Rupert Giles stormed into his pupil's office after he had learned from the imprisoned orderlies in D ward where their escaped patient William Byron was heading, right after he had climbed 23 floors worth of staircases to reach her, the moment he pushed open that door and rushed inside and saw what the deranged young man had done, that was the moment in which his belief in his own morals started to crumble.  
  
At first, he couldn't believe what he saw, and he lifted his glasses as if the horrible images that flooded into him to burn forever in his memories must have been distortions, his own frightening delusions. But after he batted his eyes, they were still there and they were real.  
  
The room looked as it had been struck by disaster; files and documents scattered over the floor, dark stains covering some of them. A man lay face up on the ground. A larger, darker blot was soaked in his shirt. His eyes were open, still and staring. Between his brows was a gaping hole, not large, not small, but lethal enough. Besides a small tickle of blood running into those staring eyes, there wasn't a lot of blood.  
  
His last expression was one of utter bewilderment.  
  
Giles took his gaze off Liam's body. He had been a doctor for a good twenty- two years. He had seen dead people before, but never did he witness such a violent death. He knew that man. He had spoken to him in the past on more than one occasion. Death was something so much more horrific when it happened to the ones you knew. He turned around, appalled by the brutal scene.  
  
And then he caught sight of Buffy.  
  
She was lying in the arms of the escaped inmate, her arms and legs hung limp. Her head was sagged to one side. There was blood covering her all over. So much blood. It marked her back and it ran freely from an oozing slash on her throat. It dripped from her chin onto the boy's lap. William looked up at them, a dull gaze in his eyes. His lips were fouled a deep colour crimson. He held his wrist frantically above Buffy's parted lips, and a slow trickle of his blood dripped into her mouth.  
  
Giles told the orderlies to drag the mad young man away from her.  
  
"NO!!" The condemned boy shouted, blood (HER blood, the doctor realized and the very thought revolted him) and spittle dripping down his lips. "DON'T! DON'T TAKE HER AWAY FROM ME! I'M NOT FINISHED YET!"  
  
The doctor sent one of his men to call for medical assistance. He then crouched down and attended his pupil. All the while, William was screaming, fighting off the men who restrained him, spitting and rambling like a madman.  
  
"WATCHER!? WATCHER!!! DON'T STAKE HER! DON'T KILL HER!! SHE'S NOT TURNED YET! DON'T TAKE HER AWAY FROM ME!! DON'T LET HER DIE! DON'T LET HER DIE!!"  
  
Giles rose from his spot by Buffy's side. His appearance was calm, almost distant. He moved like a ghost. He turned to William, who was still kept down by the orderlies, still frantically struggling to get back to her.  
  
"Don't stake her." William pleaded, murmuring as the doctor came so close that he could hear him grinding his teeth. "Watcher, don't stake her. She's Buffy, she's your Slayer. I didn't mean to turn her. I didn't want to. But she was dying and she couldn't die because I love her and she told me she loved me and she is the only one who can See me watcher, truly See me. Don't let her die watcher I'll save her, listen to me and LET ME SAVE HER!! Let me give her my blood and then it's done and she'll live, don't kill her because she's your Slayer and I turned her LET ME GO TO HER WATCHER LET ME SAVE HER GOD DAMMIT!! DON"T LET HER DIE!!! WATCHER DON'T LET HER DIE!!!!!"  
  
Giles' hand struck out and hit William hard, right on his temple. His head sagged to one side and William batted his eyes, confused by the Watcher's sudden outburst of violence, but he continued pleading. The doctor was not listening. He heard nothing else but his sorrow and his own cry for retribution. Another blow fell down on William, and another. They were barely perceived with pain, but it slowed him down, crippled his frenzied thoughts. Eventually, his rambling ceased, and the room became much darker as he lost his consciousness.  
  
  
  
SCENE 10  
  
The plan was relatively simple.  
  
Tara and Willow had been busy remaking the potion all night, the demon downstairs in the cellar was milked out to the point of dehydration, and Xander was close to collapsing on the spot, the dark half moon bags under his eyes and the unstoppable yawning a good indication of his need for a good long snooze. Dawn had already dozed off in her room; she had locked herself in following the tiring argument with her older sister. Buffy herself was also at the brink of exhaustion; first the fighting with that glarkul-what-me-nick demon while having a much unwanted conversation with her ex-vampire lover, then the disaster and having to drag said vampire the whole way back to her home TWICE. She had, in one night, literally wiped out the entire population of a rare demon species only to get the antidote for the blond Irritating One AND battled a horde of Biker type pyromaniac monsters to save Spike's delusional ass. It was 6:30 in the morning, and Buffy was beyond tired.  
  
If this final batch of antidote wasn't able to cure him, if he was going to spill it again or worse, refuse to swallow it down, she didn't know what she would do.  
  
Probably choke him to a second death, she assumed.  
  
Buffy stood in the kitchen, cutting off an arm-long section from her garden- hose with a very blunt pair of scissors. Tara came in, feet shoving over the tiles, her long hair dangling in front of her drowsy eyes in unruly strands. She held a coffee-mug in her hands and wandered over to the kitchen-counter, took the can with the stale brown liquid from the coffeemaker, and poured herself a cup-full.  
  
Buffy glanced over at the witch taking a swig from her coffee, and immediately panicked.  
  
"No! Don't drink that! That's the antidote!"  
  
"Huh? Oh! Oh yuck!"  
  
Tara made an appalled face and spun around to spit it out in the sink.  
  
"Don't! Spit it back in the mug!"  
  
Tara knitted her brows, giving Buffy a "You must be kidding me" look, but then realized why they should be very careful with the final batch of antidote and spat the offensive tasting fluid back into her mug.  
  
"Good Goddess! I'm so sorry right now that we didn't had the time to give this stuff a better taste! This is so very disgusting!!"  
  
Buffy came rushing to her, took the mug out of her hands and put it away somewhere safe. She then handed the weary witch a glass of water that she gratefully accepted, using it to wash the bitter tang out of her mouth.  
  
"Anything could have been better than this sewage taste!" Tara mumbled, filling her glass again under the tap. "It's like kissing a swamp-monster with really bad dental hygiene!"  
  
"Willow did mention she wanted to give it a little strawberry flavour. Personally, I don't think you or Spike would have noticed it between the fine overwhelming aroma of fresh animal dung and sweating cheese. Toxic demon glands are tricky ingredients to work with."  
  
She gave Tara a friendly smile and watched how the witch worked down her second glass of water.  
  
"I'm sorry. I was not thinking clearly." Tara apologized.  
  
"It's Okay. You guys have been up the whole night. Everybody is tired."  
  
"Yes, but it's so stupid. I've put it in there myself to keep it warm."  
  
"Hey, at least you didn't swallow it. Who knows how long you would have been stuck in my bathroom."  
  
"So." Tara asked carefully, as she noticed the piece of cut tube lying on the counter. "We're sticking to the plan?"  
  
"Yep, I don't see any other way to make sure he gets all the antidote. We'll have to force it down. Can you still concentrate enough to cast the binding spell on him?"  
  
Tara nodded, but seemed not at ease by the idea.  
  
"You know, maybe we could just hold him down in a natural way, without the magic? Xander and Willow could both -"  
  
"Spike is too strong for that." Buffy interrupted. "He'll just fight them off and spill the last batch of antidote all over my mom's difficult- to- clean bed sheets again. Just like last time."  
  
"Well, you're going to help out this time, aren't you?" Tara looked at her, a bit embarrassed by her own directness. "I mean, I know you don't want to see him, but you do want to help him, right?"  
  
There was a short silence and Buffy turned away from the witch. "I do." Buffy said softly, and she put the scissors back into the drawer. "I do want him to get better. Really, it's my fault he's ailing upstairs." Buffy picked up a dishcloth and started wiping the already spotless surface of the counter in frantic movements. "The least I can do is shove a tube down to his stomach and force-feed him with something that smells and taste like sewage water."  
  
"Buffy." Tara hesitated. "I don't want to put that spell on him again. He was hurting himself when he pulled on the chains."  
  
Buffy's cleaning spree slowed down a little, but she didn't turn around to face Tara.  
  
"You know, Buffy. This thing you and Spike have together, I know you don't consider it to be something real, but he does. He really does. Perhaps you should talk to him after he's, you know, sane again and less -" The witch paused, searching for a word to describe what she had sensed in the heartbroken vampire. "Less devastated."  
  
"Devastated?"  
  
"He was really hurt that you didn't want anybody to know about you two. He told me."  
  
"You talked to him? You talked to Spike about this?" Buffy had finally turned around now. She crossed her arms over her chest and gazed at Tara with an incredulous look on her face. "And you actually listened to him?"  
  
"I was just trying to help. You should have seen him, Buffy. He was so sad and angry when he was talking about it. It's - it's not healthy for him."  
  
"Tara, whatever Spike and I ever had, that wasn't healthy." She tossed the dishcloth into the sink and stared at her, not angry with the witch because she knew that this wasn't her fault that she felt this way, so confused and so full of self-loathing whenever her relationship with the blond vampire was mentioned, but she couldn't remain perfectly calm either. "It was abusive and destructive. But it's over. I got over it. And he should get over it too. It's the only way."  
  
"Spike doesn't think it's over. He still believes you care about him."  
  
The witch looked at the Slayer and then added; " I think he still loves you."  
  
"I know." Buffy answered, her expression bleak.  
  
"But I can't love him back. I really can't."  
  
"So I'm afraid there will be no happy ending for either of us."  
  
  
  
SCENE 11  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Tell me, watcher, is it winter?  
  
Say how long has been my sleep?  
  
  
  
Load my memory with shame  
  
Speak but to curse my hated name  
  
Leave me in chains and darkness now  
  
And when my very soul is worn  
  
When reason's light had left my brow  
  
And madness cannot feel thy scorn.  
  
  
  
Gaze on the wretch - recall to mind  
  
His golden days, left long behind.  
  
  
  
Fragments from The Gondal poems - Emily Brontë, 1840  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
The Punishment that followed was absolutely horrible.  
  
He was put away again, first in the familiar little white room with the soft padding on the walls and floor. He spent four whole days and nights in there, lying curled up on the ground, kept in a sweltering straightjacket that allowed him not even the slightest movement with his upper limps. After the second day, the muscles in his arms started to cramp. On the third day it hurt so bad that he tried to get up to remove the pressure off them, but he was too drugged to lift himself off the floor. The staff ignored him most of the time, only came into the room once in the twelve hours to give him injections in order to keep him sedated. He would have screamed Her name till his voice was hoarse and ruined if they didn't.  
  
On the fourth day, they came with a wheelchair, picked him up from the floor, and transferred him to another ward.  
  
There, he was taken to a grey cell, for it was too stripped of any basic comfort to call it something else. They removed his jacket and placed him on a bunk bed, tying him down with leather straps. By now, the drugs started to ware off and he could think a little, hold on to his thoughts longer than an irritably short few seconds. He watched how the orderlies secured the straps around his wrists and his ankles. They so worked fast. Soon he will be left alone again. He had to hurry.  
  
"Where -" His voice was weak, no more but a moan. Not loud enough to be heard. He licked his lips anxiously and swallowed. That thought, that one very important thought, it would slip away easily. He had to concentrate. He had to ask before it was gone.  
  
"Where - is -"  
  
The men either didn't hear or ignored him, and he watched how they started to wrap the last three leather belts around his chest with a growing sense of panic. The window into consciousness, into the real world, was only small and the black wind that swept him away from it came in regular tides. There was only a short time in this endlessness of times, in which he was allowed to perceive anything, sense anything. Only then he could dig into his memories and find the one thought he must hold on to, no matter what happened.  
  
A woman came to him. He couldn't remember who she was, only that she wasn't Her. So he tried again, forcefully straining his mouth and tongue to formulate a question. He uttered something, a string of odd sounds and noises, only to discover that he had lost all memory of language, either English or others. He failed to capture her attention, and the woman went away. The men who had brought him here in this bitter place started to leave too. Only one stayed briefly behind, and stabbed his arm with a cold needle. He whimpered a little, not because of the pain. He had already lost track of his body. It didn't seem to belong to him anymore. Even the soreness in his arms seemed not to be his own.  
  
It was because he believed that he was being Punished.  
  
They were punishing him most wickedly, not by placing him in this horrible barren cell, not by denying him his freedom and dignity by restraining him down to the bed like a disobedient dog. Not even by eliminating his mind by succumbing him to a constant assault of sedatives.  
  
No, their Punishment was far crueler than that.  
  
They simply denied him the knowledge of what had happened to Her.  
  
In that ignorance that was filled with gruelling doubts and agonizing fear, he was kept for a period of longer than a month. By the time they allowed him to sit in an upright position again and he was put on milder sedatives, most of his memory was gone, which was perhaps more a blessing than a cruelty. His mind was in ruins, and he suffered from nervousness that made his body tremble and sweat almost constantly. However, he was finally able to hold on to his thoughts and he asked them the one thing he could remember clearly because it was so important, because it was the only thing he needed to know to put his mind at easy. He asked one of the orderlies why She didn't come to see him, and the man told him. He didn't understand his answer, so he asked another member of the staff, and he told him the very same thing. He didn't want to believe both of them. He became very angry and he started to shout that they were bloody liars, and they had to restrain him and strap him back to the bed.  
  
The next morning, the woman came back. By that time he had completely forgotten that he had already asked and received an answer to his question, and he asked her again about Her. He actually begged her to tell him, he really needed to know.  
  
Dr Walsh studied her patient's ill obsessive behaviour with much interest. It seemed to her that patient 17's perception of reality had been warped by his horrible experience, and he was no longer able to accept any knowledge that would cause him great anxiety. He was trapped in a never-ending spiral of constant quest and denial. It occurred to her that he also kept asking for a man he considered being "the Watcher".  
  
"The Watcher knows." He muttered to her, and his eyes begged her to understand the urgency of the situation. "He knows where She is. Please. Bring me to him."  
  
"Then She will come back. Then I can find Her."  
  
  
  
SCENE 12  
  
"I thought that I already had handed over everything that concerned the Byron case to you. What else is left for us to discuss?"  
  
"I'm not here to acquire information about my new patient." Dr Walsh said. She was a little astounded by the harsh tune Dr Rupert Giles had adapted, only because she had dropped the name Byron. On second thought, she wasn't entirely surprised. Dr Giles had always been more a consultant for the people than a scientist; the man was so full of morals and feelings. She could imagine that the most tragic incident concerning patient 17 and his young protégée could not have left the good doctor untouched. Otherwise, he wouldn't have handed his wretched patient over to her care so easily. She was well aware that the man didn't like her and didn't approve of the manner she treated her patients. Secretly, she asked herself if it wasn't for the fact that he had such an ill contempt for her adapted ward policies that he had actually agreed in her request to transfer the dangerous inmate to her wards.  
  
"Well then, why are you here?" Giles enquired, his brow arched in an annoyed bow.  
  
"I've discovered that he's suffering from an odd type of obsessive behaviour. He constantly asks people around him about the fate of Dr Summers, but when he's told the truth, he cannot cope and starts forgetting so he's able to deal with it. Only his guilt doesn't allow him to rest before he finds out what has happened to her and so he's doomed to ask and know and then forget again. Patient 17 has trapped himself in a downward spiral of thinking patterns."  
  
Giles walked away from behind his desk, his face not showing any other emotion but disinterest.  
  
"How does that concern me? I've already handed his case over to you."  
  
"I came here to ask you for help."  
  
He stood by the window now, looking outside with his back turned to Dr Walsh. He didn't answer. He must loathe him now, she thought, this sick young man he had treated with nothing but kindness and trust had betrayed him by showing his true dangerous nature, and now he hates him so much because of that betrayal that he doesn't want to have anything to do with him any longer. In William Byron, she now understood, Rupert Giles could only see the source of his own shame; his own flaws that had made him partly responsible for this tragedy.  
  
It roused her curiosity, how much the good doctor must loathe her, for reminding him of that shame.  
  
"Patient 17 is also asking for someone who he calls the Watcher." She explained. "I've read in the statements given by the staff present at that time that they had actually heard William Byron referring to you as the Watcher. I believe that we have a chance to break this psychological downward spiral of my patient, if you where the one who would bring him the news about Dr Summers."  
  
"I will not tell him." His voice was like frosted stone.  
  
"It's for the good of the patient, Dr Giles."  
  
"It's cruelty." Giles turned around and gazed at her, his eyes blazing behind his spectacles. Gone was his calm and indifference. "It's spiteful! That's what it is."  
  
"Patient 17 needs to reacquire his ability to perceive reality. He needs to learn to deal with it. Otherwise his healing process is stagnant!"  
  
"And you would mind that?" Giles batted his eyes in sardonically played disbelief. "Really? I thought you were more the type of true scientist who would merely stamp the case closed as it is and lock the wretched boy up in some place where daylight would never reach! Is that not the kind of treatment you wanted for dangerous inmates like him in the first place? You did tell me that once before!"  
  
"Dr Giles!" She noticed she was sounding shrill and far too offensively loud. "I take no joy out of what happened!"  
  
There was a moment of silence. Giles slumped back into his chair. His shoulders sagged as he rubbed his eyes tiredly.  
  
"Now please." She continued, in a softer voice. "Stop creating such a scene. You're making yourself ridiculous."  
  
She stared at him, and saw that he was starting to break down. His face grew grey and warped by grief.  
  
"You have to assist me in this matter. For the sake of the patient." She said, and waited.  
  
She knew he had no other option.  
  
  
  
SCENE 13  
  
The doctor had trouble recognizing the patient that was brought into his office, a frail and trembling boy, strapped down in a wheelchair. His eyes were dull and lay deep sunken in a face that gleamed with grease and sweat. His hands were relentlessly twining the fabric of his trousers together in his lap. The pitiful appearance of this miserable being gave the doctor merely a glimpse of his total torment.  
  
Giles slipped down in front of him. He rested his hands on both arms of the chair and gently spoke the patient's name.  
  
"William? Can you hear me?"  
  
He nodded, slowly.  
  
"Were you looking for me, William? Did you want to speak to the Watcher?"  
  
He nodded again but more eagerly this time, and for a moment, the deadness in his eyes ebbed away and was replaced by a spark of hopefulness.  
  
"Giles?" He muttered. "Watcher?"  
  
"Yes, I suppose that's me."  
  
"Giles!" He was getting more lucid now. "It's you! It's really you!" He swallowed, and his eyes darted up to the woman who had brought him here. "He's the Watcher, right?" He asked her almost timidly. "I'm not away again. I'm not crazy?"  
  
Dr Walsh smiled at him. "Yes, I told you I would let you see the Watcher. It's really him. Don't you worry."  
  
"Right." He sighed in great relief and nodded. "William is a good boy. A good boy." He looked up at her and said hopefully; "I'm a good boy?"  
  
"Yes you are. Now ask the watcher what you want to know, and he will tell you. He will tell you the truth."  
  
He stared at her for a while with obvious anxiety. Then he flicked his worried eyes back at the doctor, while chewing on his lower lip.  
  
"Come on, don't waste the good doctor's time! Go ask him!"  
  
He scraped his teeth over his tongue and shyly he took his gaze to the ground. "Buffy." He fearfully muttered. "Giles, can you tell me where she is? Where I can find her? I've tried. Tried to find her. I looked everywhere. But this place is a maze. I got lost." He looked down at his damp hands, twisting white cotton between his fingers. "Please. Tell me? She hasn't come to see me while I was away. I don't know what happened to her."  
  
Giles gave the unscrupulous Dr Walsh a long scornful look, his jaw stiffening. Why was it so, he thought, that in the end cruelty and hate had to triumph over kindness and care? And why was he himself allowing this cruelty to take place? The boy was completely miserable. He had been punished enough. But then he recalled the final moments of his beloved pupil, her blood that had tainted this boy's mouth and the madness that had blazed in these smouldering eyes, and the doctor stopped hesitating.  
  
"Buffy is dead, William."  
  
There was only blankness around the mouth. His pale blue eyes stared at him.  
  
"Did you hear me William? Buffy is dead!"  
  
He stirred, and slowly, he started to shake his head.  
  
"For Christ's sake! Listen to me boy!" The doctor was seized by a sudden anger and grabbed the trembling young man by his arms.  
  
"No no no no no no, can't be." He tilted his head and nudged his ear on his shoulder. He didn't want to hear this. "Not true. Not true!!"  
  
"She's dead!" Giles said, and he shook him, his fingers digging into his arms till red marks appeared. "She could have been saved but she bled to death because of you! You crazy idiot!"  
  
"Not true!" he yelled, his eyes large and pleading. "Please! Not true! Not true!"  
  
"It is true!" Giles spat. "You killed her with your foolish delusions! Don't you remember?! Can't you remember what you have done to her?!"  
  
The boy was frantically panting now, rocking himself in the wheelchair as much as his restrains allowed him to. His head twitched in rigid movements while he begged with wide-open eyes.  
  
Giles watched how the young man slowly succumbed to his destructive words. How it ruined him. He felt no joy, although for a very wicked moment before, he had thought he might. Now the anger was gone, leaving behind the pain and the shame. It seemed that to him that there was never a possible escape from those two.  
  
The doctor staggered back up, looking down at the patient who was now completely silent. The rusty joints of the chair squeaked while the boy kept rocking himself.  
  
"She could have been saved." Giles muttered. "If only I could have saved her. I let you kill her. I killed her."  
  
A small whimper came from the sorrowful patient. It was followed by a loud sob after which he was quickly reduced to wretched tears.  
  
Giles looked up at Dr Walsh, his stance resentful and hostile.  
  
"That went rather well." She said, unblinking." I believe we might have a break-through here, don't you think?"  
  
There were only two words left in the world the good doctor could say to her. He pointed at the door, his finger trembling.  
  
"GET. OUT!"  
  
  
  
TBC  
  
All right, I told you guys that this update would be the final one, but I've overdone myself once again and I've made this part much too elaborate. So I've decided to add one last chapter and a short epilogue to this story. It will be published as soon as I get the time to write it down (Yep, holidays are over, it's back to slave-labour again). Don't worry. I'll get him back home in Sunny D by the end.  
  
Cheers Richard. 


	23. ACT 23: Normal Again

TITLE: "Normal again" (10/10)  
  
(Last and Final Chapter, THANK GOD!!!)  
  
AUTHOR: Richard Bachman  
  
EMAIL: bachman_rchard@hotmail.com  
  
SITE: nope  
  
FEEDBACK: Always welcome, keeps me motivated to write.  
  
DISTRIBUTION: Do whatever you like poodle. As long as Richard is mentioned I'm fine. SUMMARY: Based on the episode Normal Again. Instead of Buffy, Spike was poisoned by the demon and his consciousness was transported into an alternative reality where he found himself incarcerated in an asylum.  
  
THANK YOU: Olga, for editing my work. And thank you Pat! I couldn't have done it without you! Also, to every reviewer I got during these 10 long months, thank you for every kind word and helpful suggestion. You guys kept me writing and now the bloody thing is finally finished!  
  
WARNING: Character death.  
ACT 10; Normal Again.  
SCENE 1  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Eternal Spirit of the chainless Mind  
  
Brightest in dungeons, Liberty thou art  
  
For thy habitation is the heart  
  
Which love of thee alone can bind  
  
G. G. Byron, 1816  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
The ceiling seemed to move.  
  
Strips of harsh fluorescent light travelled across a vision that was only severely limited. He could not move nor turn his head. His limps were sluggish; heavy. They seemed a mile away and fully detached from his perception. There was the sound of wheels on the floor, a heavy double door swung open and closed again.  
  
Alien faces hovered on both sides of him. A young woman checked the dripping bag of saline that dangled from a metal stand from which tiny tubes slithered down and disappeared somewhere into his distant body. It was surprising that the bloody thing was able to catch up with them at all and he could only imagine the girl pushing it along while they were rushing down an endless tunnel. There seemed to be no end to this odd journey, no real destination, although he should have known where they were heading. At least, they had explained everything to him beforehand. It was really his own fault if he had forgotten it again.  
  
Whatever it was, he believed firmly that he was at peace with what was going to happen to him. He thought he might perhaps even desire it, much like a wretched prisoner would crave for the gallows after years of suffering and neglect.  
  
He would have done anything to stop himself from remembering.  
  
The cause of this almost stubborn determination, were the nightmares that he had suffered once before. They had returned one by one, assassins in the night, silently and in stealth when he had become too tired to allow himself to be tortured by guilt. The things he had done, the dreadful crimes of his loathsome, made-up past created demons that haunt him to the point of insanity. It didn't take long before the sedatives; the chlorpromazine and the liquid diamorphine, were no longer able to help, and he would wake up screaming in the middle of the night, pleading to imagined spirits to leave him alone, alarming the whole ward and rousing the other patients to indulge into their own insanity. He would also, in the short moments of blissful ignorance granted to him, cry out for Buffy to come and help him to chase his monsters away. The bolted door leading into his smal claustrophobic world would open, and he would look up with a naïve shred of hope, imagining hearing her voice coming from the corridor. But She never returned to him. There were only harsh hands and distant faces, followed by the stab of a cold needle, and then the agonizing realization that he would never see her again. That she was truly gone. Forever.  
  
There was nobody now, so it seemed, who could protect him from his own demons. Nobody, but perhaps the ever-inquisitive Dr Walsh.  
  
She came to see him one morning, after he had caused much trouble during the nightly lockdown. He had somehow managed to free his hands from the straps, and had used this opportunity to claw his cheeks to ruins. There was crusted blood under his nails the following morning, and a crimson rust smeared all over the cotton of his trousers, when the staff finally bothered to check on him. They found the inmate hiding underneath the bunk bed like a frightened animal, and he had fought, cried and spat on the orderlies when they dragged him out of his hiding place.  
  
Something had to be done. No patient in the highly respectable D ward was allowed to throw such a distasteful display without being severely disciplined afterwards. So Dr Walsh was informed about his ill behaviour and appeared in his cell dressed in her immaculate white lab-coat and wearing a bleak face like steel. He knew that things were not right whenever she came to see him; the inmate had a deep rooted, almost instinctive fear for the woman that had something to do with the way she looked at him, like he was a specimen of an interesting species of insect to be examined and dissected. However, the poor boy couldn't help but to also feel a bit exhilarated by her visit. Except for her, nobody else of the staff ever spoke a single word to him. The silence and the loneliness he was condemned to face in his small cell was almost as much a torment to him as were his imaginary demons. No, the strict doctor seemed to be the only one who still wanted to listen, who was still interest in this pitiable, wretched being, and he was more than grateful for her company, however intimidating that was.  
  
"This therapy will help you to recover and stop you from having these delusions." She said, and glanced over the charts, making some notes on her clipboard, her head shaking slightly as she read the observations made by the staff describing his behaviour for the last twenty-four hours. He didn't like her reading it. He knew how bad he had been last night, waking up the other patients and cutting himself. Cutting in his own arm so his demons didn't have to do it for him. Although the woman asked a lot of questions, and tried her best to understand, she was also disapproving, perhaps even disgusted by his madness. Dr Walsh made him feel ashamed of what he had done. She reminded him that he was a very sick young man, and needed to be cured for everybody's sake, because his insanity was extremely dangerous. He knew very well that she was right, and there wasn't a moment in his now most wretched life that he didn't cursed his illness, didn't hate him-self for being such a fantasist, for being insane. He tried to be a good boy now, to behave well and not to act inappropriately. Well, at least not in her presence, but it wasn't easy. Most of the time he had to remind himself to press his lips tightly together and bite in his tongue to prevent his mouth from hurling obscenity right into her face, so overwhelming was his fear for this particular woman. He was particular affraid that she might force him to remember what he had done. He still remembered their last visit to Dr Giles, and he didn't want to become that sobbing emotional wreck again, although most of the time, he came very close.  
  
But today he needn't to be afraid. She wasn't here to poke in his head and reduce him into a weeping maggot. She, apparently, was here to offer him help. A possible way out of this hopeless and miserable situation.  
  
"Don't be afraid." She said. "It's not painful. You won't feel it when it happens, and the benefits to your health will be tremendous."  
  
"Is that really so?" His voice sounded pitiably small. He was hardly able to speak to her. He was in no position to ask questions. Really, he should be grateful that she was taking care of him in her own frightening yet distantly affectionate kind of way. But still, the frightened little boy inside of him needed some reassurance.  
  
"Can it make them go away? Everything I've done? Everything terrible and bad? Make me forget?"  
  
"It would stop you feeling so very anxious all the time. You won't be so frightened anymore."  
  
He gazed up at her with wide eyes, chewing on his lower lip as if it was a piece of pink bubblegum while the tang of copper spread in his mouth. "Can you make me normal again?" He begged. "I don't want to be crazy anymore! I want to be normal, just good little William, nice little William."  
  
Dr Walsh reassured her poor delusional patient with a smile that was colder than the north artic wind. " Of course we will try!" She replied with faked enthusiasm. "But we can't rush things. The healing of such a highly disturbed mind like yours takes time. So for now, let us see how far we get with the ETC, shall we?"  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
The lights were dim and pale blue, like at the bottom of a lake. The air was thick with the smell of sweat, urine and overheated engines. He himself lay propped up on a hard surface, his body restrained by two black leather belts, crossing over his chest. They had stripped him bare from any clothing, leaving him feeling horribly vulnerable. A harsh light was shone in his eyes and he squinted, seeing dots of red and green drifting before his corneas. A man in a white lab-coat, his face half hidden behind a paper mouth mask, looked down at him. His white brows knitted into a serious knot of utter concentration.  
  
"Patient's heart rate?" He inquired, firmly.  
  
"90 and slowing down, doctor." An invisible female answered, the voice coming from out of the shadows on his right.  
  
"We should wait. Is he hooked to the machine yet?"  
  
Fingers fluttering over his temples. There were hands and arms and possibly a whole body attached, but he could not distinguish a person, felt only the plastic touch of gloved hands. Smooth and cold steel was pressed onto his skin.  
  
"Patient is ready doctor."  
  
A low and constant humming filled the room, as if there was a fat hotel guest snoring in his sleep. It came from the back of the room and he couldn't see the possible source. The faceless nurse standing by his side lowered a switch on a panel and the humming burst into a loud roaring not unlike that of a plane just minutes before take off.  
  
It was absolutely terrifying.  
  
"Pulse rate, nurse?  
  
"85 doctor." The woman informed. The buttons on the small panel lit up, green and red. A needle moved over the face of a dial in concert with his heartbeat. There was a soft wheezing sound of respiration, as a set of artificial lungs cooled down the boisterous machine's heated bowels.  
  
This wasn't what he wanted. He was frightened to death. The gag filled his mouth with an acid taste and it was sweltering hot beneath the sheet, transpiration making his skin all slippery like that of a snake. He realized then that they were going to hurt him. The doctor and the nurse had awakened a terrible monster with their fancy button - pushing and switch - levelling, a dark creature with a booming roar whose intentions were everything but benign toward his hapless and maddened self. The monster was not a being of light, like the Slayer, but a creation of evil. It was going to devour and destroy, not comfort or heal. He was so sure about its intentions that the sheer fear of it caused him much difficulty to breathe. Besides, if Dr Walsh was right and this monstrous device was going to take away his anxiousness, all these fears and nightmares locked up in his troubled mind, wouldn't it also demand something in return for this great favour? Wouldn't there be a terrible price to pay?  
  
Unable to move, to protest or even beg the staff for release, he quietly started sobbing, pushing out ragged breaths of air against his gag, his cheeks blowing up like red-flushed balloons.  
  
"75 now doctor."  
  
"Excellent! Nice and steady."  
  
All that he could do now was look up at the ceiling where metal pipes and railings were crossing each other in chaotic zigzag patterns. The harsh light that had blinded him was still there, but had been removed further away. He stared at it, waiting for the pain to start. Waiting to be punished for his wicked illness and for his ground-level stupidity to allow all of this to happen to him. In his teary eyes, the light blurred into patches of colours that pulsed on the rhythm of his slowing heartbeat.  
  
It was then that he heard a voice. One as familiar as his own. It was calling out to someone.  
  
"Spike."  
  
"Spike!"  
  
He stirred, but mainly to move away from it. He didn't want to listen that voice. Monsters, he reminded himself, monsters and demons. Only they would still call him by that cursed name.  
  
"Spike? Spike! Good Lord, what have they done to you?"  
  
The bright coloured particles shifted, moving themselves out of chaos to form a most familiar face. He panted loudly through his nostrils as he realised who was appearing before him. It was as if he was staring into a mirror.  
  
William August Byron gazed down at the paralysed young man, his concern about his situation only visible by the way he wrinkled his brows.  
  
"Hate to tell you this. But don't say I didn't warn you."  
  
He made a muffled sound behind the gag, his eyes caught in a maddened twitch. William reacted with a deep sigh and an overdramatic eye-roll. "Spike! It's me your bloody soul! Look at me! There's no need to be afraid! Anyway, you better save it for whatever these folks are going to do to you."  
  
A memory was recovered out of the fog of his mind, and he recalled the visit that his soul-companion had paid him. He remembered fragments of their conversation and he particularly remembered not liking his spiritual counterpart very much.  
  
Bloody hell! Why? He thought bitterly. Why did he have to come back to see me like this, right now, at this specific moment, when he was about to get tortured with his own whacker's consent to escape the torment of his mental illness? Was he here to mock him? Laugh at his stupidity? Scorn him for every terrible mistake he had made that had destroyed so many lives?  
  
Wasn't he already punished enough?  
  
"So, this is it then?" William Byron said, tightening his jaws as he observed the straps, the wires and tubes snaking in and out of his body, the sheer desperate and pitiable state he was in. "This is your great plan? Let these sadists shock the last bit of good reason out of you? Is that how you want it to end?"  
  
There came no response other but a dull look in his eyes.  
  
"Come on Spike! You cannot just give up like this! Speak to me, dammit! I know you think you deserve it all and perhaps you're right, but it's not going to bring her back! The only thing you're going to do here is that you're going to make Luce really happy by getting you and me closer to the cosy fires of hell. Is that what you want? Let Miss Serpent Breath have the last laugh and get her hands on both of us?!"  
  
A slow blinking, but except for that, his features were that of a marble statue. Let him speak. He thought. Let him mock. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered anymore. Nothing mattered except to be able to forget.  
  
The nurse moved the lamp away and the Victorian squinted as the beam of harsh light hit him and shone right through his eyes. He moved away and worriedly, he watched how the girl checked on the machine standing at the head of the operation table. It was a rectangle box of ordinary size, with a façade marked by dials and lit buttons. The whole thing sat on top of a trolley and red and blue wirings sneaked away from the device into a medical tool that looked much like a screw with two separate spoon-shaped ends that were pressed on each side of the young man's temples. William turned back to his demon-half, nervousness getting the better of him. There was no time to squander around.  
  
"Really Spike. I thought much more of you." He tried. "Buffy, she would have thought much more of you."  
  
That last statement seemed to have finally caught his attention; the inmate looked back at him, blue eyes flashing and jaws that tried to clench but where held back by the rubber gag.  
  
"Oh! So you still care, then? Not completely brain-dead yet?"  
  
"70 doctor."  
  
"Perfect! I think our patient is ready to receive the first dose."  
  
William's already pale features paled even a shade whiter and fretfully, he lifted his spectacles.  
  
"Spike! For God's sake! Snap out of it! They're about to fry our brains! At least talk back to me you bloody git!"  
  
A slow blinking. His eyes kept staring at him. Then the nurse screwed the instrument tighter, pushing the electrodes deeper into the skin. Her actions elicited a frightened moan from him. Somehow, the restrained patient was able to struggle a little despite of the sedatives.  
  
William lifted a brow. "Okay, so you not too keen on the idea of getting zapped either. Got that. Now what?!"  
  
He lobbed forward, trying to get up, but the straps held him back. He was barely able to lift his head from the table. Then he tried to spit out the rubber gag, forcing it out with his tongue. He almost succeeded if it wasn't for the nurse. She pushed the offensive thing all the way back and bound a leather band over his mouth, keeping him from trying again. Panting loudly and looking up at the Victorian, he begged with desperation in his eyes.  
  
"Hang on there a minute, you do want to talk, don't you? Only you're gagged, right?"  
  
Despite of his own misery, despite the fact that he was frightened as hell, he still managed to roll his eyes at his soul.  
  
William didn't even notice his weak attempt to be defiant. " You think you can't answer me, only because you're physically not able to. But you don't need to use words. Just listen and talk to me through your mind. Chains have never been able to restrain you, so what good will silly rubber gags do in silencing your stubborn tongue?"  
  
He swallowed again, eyes blinking feverishly now.  
  
"Spike?" William tried, gently, almost cautiously.  
  
- What -What are they doing to me? -  
  
The thought had barely crossed his mind, or a wave of pain flooded in, sharp and bright, searing like fire and yet paralysingly cold. It flashed through his skull like thunder splitting a tree. The agony was almost familiar, as he was vaguely reminded of some sort of device that he had once imagined being implanted inside his head to correct his murderous behaviour as a vampire. Only now, it fired totally out of control. He couldn't cease with whatever he was doing to stop the pain, for he had done nothing wrong to invoke its wrath in the first place.  
  
- Stop it! Stop it! Not doing anything! Make it stop! -  
  
As suddenly as the pain had started, it ceased. He breathed hard through his nose, his teeth biting so hard on the gag that it was almost splitting it in half.  
  
- Oh, God, thank you! Thank you! -  
  
A slight movement of the masked doctor's hand, and it was back again, the needle on the dials on the machine crept all the way up to 140, and held that position for a short few seconds. However, to the agonized patient suffering the treatment, it seemed that the violent onslaught of electricity lasted forever.  
  
William tried to reach him again.  
  
"Spike! You have to get out of here! You have to -"  
  
- Stop! Please! The chip, it's burning! Can't hunt! Can't think! Please! Make it stop! Make it stop! -  
  
"It's not the bloody chip! You know that!"  
  
- I can't - I -  
  
The pain ebbed away again, leaving him cold and paralysed. Sweat cooled on his brows. The short time between the shocks began to wrap him in a painless bubble of relief, isolated him from the outside world. William's face hovered close, his spectacles slipping half off his sweating nose- bridge. He knew that face so very well, he knew every dimple and every line it would form if his soul-counterpart were to smile or to frown. He wondered if it still belonged to him after all this time. Whether he still looked like that if he happened to take a look into the mirror. He stared at the sandy brown locks, curling in unruly strings over a pale, sharp face. Funny cheekbones, he always thought they looked rather comic, too gaunt. Blue eyes, which were vigilant behind thick glasses and were seemingly full of spirit.  
  
He stared at that face with an almost childlike curiosity, as if he had seen it for the first time and a thousand times, and realized that he wasn't too different from the man he wasn't supposed to be after all. The notion didn't drown him in self-loathing nor did it frighten him, but filled him with a sense of peace he had not known for a long time.  
  
"Spike, listen. Listen to me. I've got to tell you the truth here. I know you think I'm able to help you out, but I can't. I can't save you. No-one can. Not Buffy, not Dr Walsh. Not the Watcher. Not even the real Slayer. You have to save yourself." William shot a worried glance at the doctor, who was leaning over the patient's chest, listening to his breathing with a stethoscope, tapping here and there to check on proper function. "You got to fight back, you got to leave this place on your own strength, and you have to hurry, or we'll be stuck here playing defective vegetable for the rest of our life."  
  
- Can't leave. Can't move.-  
  
"Look, it's not about the straps or the drugs. Those are not the things that keep you from going back! Think about it! You can still communicate with me even when you're not moving your lips or your tongue right now. Isn't that enough proof that physical confinement isn't the soddin problem here?"  
  
- Can't. Can't go back. -  
  
"They're gonna need you Spike. The Slayer and her friends are going to need us BOTH."  
  
- Can't go back to her. Not after - not after -  
  
"Bloody hell! Can you stop drowning yourself in useless self-pity for a moment?! Stop seeing yourself as the Morbid Martyr and start acting like some-one a bit more useful again?"  
  
William had hardly the time to finish his lecture as a new shock hit the patient, flashing through the sides of his temples and straining every muscle in his body, stretching them like cords on a violin. This time however, the wave lasted longer and was more violent. It ripped through his skull, like shark-teeth ripped through flesh, leaving an injured mind with gaping holes where there was once order and continuity in thought.  
  
He had trouble holding on to his own thoughts. Through the agony and the dread, he finally realized what was happening to him. That monster, that dark ugly machine that they had attached to his temples like a leech to an exposed part of skin, was destroying his memory. A lifetime worth of recollections were stolen, memories he hated, but also memories he treasured more than anything in the world and that had been all that he had left.  
  
He wanted to scream. Stop them from destroying William Byron, but the electricity paralysed his tongue and jammed his jaws together. So the destruction continued, and the memories that defined his personality in this reality, told him who he was in this life, were torn away from him one by one.  
*~*~*~*~*  
  
Buffy, dragging him out of the therapy group after he had literally turned the whole bunch of mental patients against him with his thoughtless remarks. She had been so angry with him, telling that he was rude and obnoxious, but she also told him that she didn't see him as a monster. She saw him as a man.  
  
Liam, visiting for he first time, telling him that he cared. Because he was his little brother. Because he was family.  
  
The sun beating down on his face. Hot orange glowing through his eyelids. She being there and sharing that perfect summer day with him.  
  
The smell of a paperback copy of David Copperfield, Penguin edition. A smile that could drive him mad with happiness.  
  
She, holding him, comforting him.  
  
She, telling him the one thing he had ever wanted to hear, telling him that she loved him.  
  
*~*~*~*~*  
-Don't! Stop! Please! Stop this! Stop this!-  
  
"Spike!"  
  
-Help! Help me, please! They're killing me! They're taking her away! Don't even let me keep her memory, don't even, don't-  
  
"Stop holding on to all this! You don't belong here anymore! Don't you see that, you silly twit? There's nothing that keeps you in this place, keeps you from going back except for your self! Believe me, nothing can hold you here but your own emotional attachment to what once had been but will never be again."  
  
- I'm - I'm scared. - Please help- Help me. Don't let them make me forget! I don't want to forget. I don't want to forget about her, please -  
  
"Some things were meant to be forgotten. Some things were never meant to be." William whispered, and he placed his hand on his with sweat gleaming face, gently covering his eyes. Light kept shining through his transparent skin, while hot tears spilled through and rolled down the patient's cheeks. "Listen Spike. Give up on this place, will you? Soon there won't even be a memory of her for you to hold on to anymore. There will be nothing left for you here but misery."  
  
He looked up and saw how the sadistic doctor was about to return to the machine to give his patient another shock.  
  
"Spike, are you listening to me?"  
  
- At least, let - let me keep one of them. One memory of her. Let me remember it. Let me keep it. Let me take it away with me.-  
  
"Are you still trying to bargain with God? Christ! Spike, for the sake of you and me and everything you hold dear, please, just let it go!"  
  
- It's all I ask. One thing to hold on to. To keep me going. Please. There might not be a chance for me to be with her again. It may be all I'll ever have. Don't take this away from me. Let me remember it, let me -  
  
His string of thoughts were cut short when the very last wave of electricity hit his body, wiping out every shred of memory he still had of the last twelve months of his life.  
SCENE 2  
  
Dawn was dancing by the side of her mother's bed with the buzz of panic in her long adolescent limbs. "Oh my God, this is not going to work! You're going choke him to death!"  
  
"It is working! We just have to keep him steady! Willow! The antidote!"  
  
Buffy held the blond vampire's head back. She had forced a tube into his mouth and the piece of former garden utensil sneaked its way down the undead's throat, ending somewhere nearby his stomach. Spike had gagged a little on the intrusion, but except for these reflexes and some occasional moans, he hadn't struggled much against this harsh treatment: Something that Buffy found alarming, but she had decided that her concern was best kept secret. If anything, Tara's remarks in the kitchen had taught her that she should to emotionally remove herself from the blond vampire even more than she had done up untill now.  
  
Willow appeared with a plastic funnel and the notorious Mug filled with Yuk, and the whole room immediately started to reek of stale urine stained toilet-bowls.  
  
Buffy caught herself wrinkling her nose. "Tara, Xander, you both hold on to his legs. Don't let him roll off the bed! Will, you pour that icky stuff down his throat. Make sure he gets every single drop of it! I'll hold on to his arms." She grabbed Spike's hands and twisted them on his back, while pushing a shoulder against his spine to keep him in upright position.  
  
"What can I do?" Asked Dawn.  
  
"You can stay away from him so I wouldn't have to punch him afterward for breaking BOTH my little sister's arms."  
  
"But -"  
  
"No buts, no whining, or you can forget about calling ill today and pack your bag to go to school. Will, are you ready?"  
  
The witch nodded and cautiously, she approached the unconscious vampire, fitted the cone at the end of the tube, and pinched his nose with two fingers, eliciting a frown on Buffy's brows.  
  
"It's for security reasons." Willow explained. "You know, for in the case he is still able to smell anything. I don't want him to get all nauseous again."  
  
"Good thinking."  
  
The others watched as the witch aimed the mug at the brim of the funnel and slowly, poured the repulsive solution into the vampire's gullet. The liquid was thick, and Willow got an unpleasant feeling in her stomach as she saw little air bubbles rising to the black surface like gas escaping out of a swamp. It reminded her of little animals drowning in tar pits or badly cooked oatmeal porridges.  
  
"Is it working?" Tara asked, her hands clumsily fixing the vampire's legs to the bed by leaning her whole weight onto it. She knew what Spike could do when he was to come back to semi consciousness, she had seen the blue bruises on Dawn's injured arm, but she wouldn't mind a bit trashing of the legs if it was a sign of his recovery. But for now, Spike remained perfectly still, and that started to worry her a great deal.  
  
"Well, at least he's swallowing it." Willow replied, holding the mug upside down to get rid of the stubborn strings of gooey liquid. "And I think I got all of it inside him now."  
  
"He's not moving." Dawn muttered.  
  
"Maybe the antidote needs time to work its way through his system. Get distributed by his bloodstream." Willow opted.  
  
"What bloodstream? I don't think vampires even have a circulation." Xander said. He was still restraining Spike's legs. You never knew when the crazy bloodsucker was regaining consciousness to start kicking like a mule. He didn't want one of the girls to get hurt again. "Does that mean that rancid stuff is going to sit there in his stomach till it evaporates?"  
  
"Maybe the antidote didn't work."  
  
"Don't say that Dawnie! Spike will be all right! Just like I said, I think the antidote needs time to -"  
  
"If this doesn't work, do we have any backup plans? Some other way to raise the evil-undead?" Xander opted.  
  
"But -but It has to work! Right Willow?" Tara opted, hopefully. "We did everything exactly as it was described in the book. A poisoning by the glarghk guhl kashma'nik has to be counteracted by an antidote brawn from the demon's own venom. This is the only way to reverse the effects."  
  
" So you're saying that this is all we got to help him? If the poison doesn't work, there's no other way to get him back?"  
  
"Dawn, he's not gone yet! Spike's still here! He's a vampire and vampires don't just die leaving a whole corpse behind. Willow is probably right, the antidote needs some time to settle." Buffy explained.  
  
Dawn crossed her arms over chest and shot a resentful glance at her sister. "You just don't care, do you?"  
  
"What are saying?" Buffy said, irritated.  
  
Dawn shrugged angrily, tears glossing behind her eyes. "From all the people in this room, you are the one who wants to have nothing to do with him. And I know about the others that they won't be too upset when Spike is gone."  
  
"That's so not true!"  
  
"Oh come on Buffy! Admit it! You hate Spike! Hate him for having that crush on you. Because he isn't Angel, because all he has is that chip and not a soul. I may be a teenager but I'm not stupid! Things will be so much easier for you once he's gone, wouldn't it?"  
  
"I dragged him home by my own, Dawn! Do you have any idea how heavy he is? I didn't leave him on the street after he was stabbed, and didn't I just try to move some dangerous sort of demon across murky dimensions to get the antidote for him?! If I really hate him that much, do you really think I would still do these things to save his ass?!"  
  
Dawn stared at Buffy, a cold look in her eyes.  
  
"You wouldn't have to save him if he didn't try to help you in the first place."  
  
"I didn't ask him to."  
  
"Exactly. Spike helps us out even when he doesn't have to. You on the other hand, will never lift as much as a finger to help him if he was in trouble. But that's not just you, is it?" Dawn glanced around, distributing her emotional teenage wrath equally over the others. "All of you won't. Because to you, he's not worth the trouble. He's not considered one of us, is he? Not important enough to waste any tears on. Not human enough to be a real person."  
  
Buffy was silent for a moment. She was still holding on to the vampire, but her grip on his wrists was no longer firm, and Spike's body was more leaning against her for support than it was that she was trying to restrain him. How wrong Dawn was, she thought, how terribly, terribly wrong! She didn't hate Spike. Perhaps she loathed him for what he had made her do to him and to herself. Perhaps she didn't saw him as a person, a real person with feelings that could be hurt and with a heart that could be broken. But she never hated him that much to wish him dust. She couldn't imagine, could hardly bear the thought of not having him around in Sunnydale. Spike was the one who had always accompanied her during her lonely nightly strolls over the cemeteries these last four years. Irritating her, mocking her, fighting her. He was the annoying but necessary presence in her life, the only thing that was as certain as the sun rising each morning in the east or the stars appearing in the cloudless sky at night. He was the only one who had never left, and she would miss him horribly if he was gone.  
  
Absorbed as she was in her own thoughts, she hardly registered the faint movement in his limbs as he started to stir, and became only aware of it when a string of gagging sounds came from him as he ineffectively tried to hurl up the disgusting fluid that had been forced down into his stomach.  
  
"Spike? Spike!" Buffy blinked her wet eyes in bewilderment, and within a moment, she had recomposed herself. "Guys! Grab his legs! Will, get that tube out of him!"  
  
"Holy Godfathers one and two! Tara! His ankles! Grab hold of his ankles, but be careful!"  
  
Tara was just in time to keep his legs down as Willow pulled the tube out of the vampire's throat. Spike started to shiver all over his body as if he was struck by seizure or was getting zapped by waves of electricity coming from his chip.  
  
"Spike?! Spike, do you hear me?!" Buffy yelled, and wrapped her arms around his waist to keep him from bouncing off the bed.  
  
"What's going on? What's happening to him?!" Dawn asked.  
  
"Maybe it's the antidote. Some sort of side effect." Willow tried, pushing the vampire back against the bed.  
  
"Spike! Spike! Stop this! Wake up!" Buffy tightened her grip on him, nudging her chin again his trembling shoulders as much as to stabilize him as to provide comfort. You have to wake up, she thought, we don't have anything else left to get you back, and you can't just leave like this.  
  
I need you.  
  
William. You have no idea how much I need you.  
SCENE 3  
  
I don't need any of this. I really don't.  
  
Still, I dragged myself reluctantly to the ladder, and waited at the foot of the steps, considering to climb up to the crypt, where seconds before, the loud banging of the heavy metal door had alarmed me, yanking me out of a nice and comfy alcoholic stupor. For a short moment, I thought I was able to pass this one over, and hide myself in my lair behind a couple of trunks till she lost her patience with me and went away again, but she wasn't exactly in a quitting mood today.  
  
"Spike? I know you're in here!  
  
No I wasn't. Not if I kept myself very quiet.  
  
"I want to see you! You can't keep hiding yourself from us."  
  
Yes I could. Watch me. All I needed was a human-lifetime worth of fags and a truckload of pigs-blood and cheap booze and I would have been half way down to a happy, Scoobies-less existence.  
  
I heard her sigh. My Slayer obsessed mind couldn't resist picturing her rolling her eyes rather impatiently.  
  
"Spike, I know you're in your crypt. Your duster lies here on the floor and besides, it's three o'clock in the afternoon, the sun is shining, where- else could you be?"  
  
Got me there. I really shouldn't leave my clothes lying around like that. Bloody Slayer.  
  
"Are you down there?"  
  
No answer, still trying to keep myself very quiet, you see.  
  
"I have enough of this! If you don't come out to show yourself quickly, I'm going back home and find myself a wooden pointy stick and then come down there to MAKE you talk to me. Or I'm gonna torch this whole place up just like last time."  
  
"Hey! Hold your nuggets there, you bloody mindless vandal! I just got the place tidied up again!"  
  
As I climbed out of the shaft, she was standing nearby, her arms crossed over her bosom wearing a small triumphant smile on her pretty face.  
  
"If you call this tidy, please don't show what a clutter looks like in your eyes."  
  
"Mock all you can, pet. What are you here to see me for?"  
  
"Nothing. I just wanted to check out on you. You know, it's kinda strange when an injured houseguest leaves without saying a word, disappears for whole month. Doesn't show up for the meetings or patrols. Even if the guy in question is a rude and obnoxious vampire with serious behavioural problems, I can't help but wonder if something horrible has happened to him. But hey, that's just good old soft-hearted me talking. The rest of the gang just want me to find you to give you a good nagging."  
  
"Is that why you're here?" I leaned back on the stone tomb that I used as some sort of bunk bed after my real nest had been blown to bits by the Slayer's resentful ex. The ever-tactless Captain Cardboard. That stupid wanker with his Easter egg-hunt obsession, you know what I'm talking about.  
  
"Why else would I be here?"  
  
"Are you ill or something?"  
  
She frowned at me. Her expression was fifty percent confusion and fifty percent annoyance.  
  
"It's just, I thought you didn't care." I clarified.  
  
"I don't. I mean not too much! Obviously enough to see if you're not dusted by some old acquaintance of yours, but nothing special." She rambled. "Not that I care more about you than I would care about any of my friends if they were trouble."  
  
"Is that what we are now? Friends?"  
  
"Yes. And that's all we ever will be. Unless, you don't want us to be and have suddenly decided that you want to have nothing to do with me or the gang anymore."  
  
"It's not like that."  
  
"Well, you were trying to keep yourself away from me. I came by to see you often enough, and every time I came into your crypt there was no sign of William the Bloody. If it wasn't for me threatening to smoke you out like a rat you wouldn't have fled out of your hiding place to talk to me."  
  
I stared at her. I knew she expected me to spill the beans. Tell her why I was acting like this. Why I was no longer following her around like a love- sick puppy with only half a brain of wit. But I kept my gob shut. She wouldn't understand, even if I did try to explain it to her. The things I remembered, about us, they were just too confusing, too mind boggling to describe. I wouldn't even know the words for it to do so.  
  
She sighed, her patience running short, I could tell by that look in her eyes.  
  
"Spike, why have you been avoiding me? Does it have anything to do with that incident?"  
  
That incident, that was what she called it. She wrinkled her nose as she spat out the word, like something vile. That rather unfortunate incident. It boggled my mind to hear her even speak like that. Definitely not something you would normally find in the Slayer's vocabulary. Did she memorized this whole speech or what?  
  
" Please Spike, Tell me what's going on."  
  
"You know, even if I wasn't too embarrassed to tell you, you wouldn't understand a thing of it."  
  
"Try me! I may be a college drop-out but I'm not really that dumb."  
  
I sighed, and leaned back on my tomb-turned-bunk-bed for support. How could I tell her, I mean really describe, in any of the bloody languages I knew, demon or human, what was spooking through my mind for the last month? How could I put all the feelings I now had for her into a couple of simple sentences?  
  
"Do you still have those visions of yours?" I tried. "The ones that are connected to you because of you being the slayer?"  
  
"Yes, sometimes." She looked confused. I couldn't blame her. "Although I haven't had them for months now, thank God for that! They were never much fun, always forbidding some great disaster coming up. Makes you wonder why they don't sent dreams about me winning the lottery or having a particular nice day or something. All that gloomy life threatening stuff doesn't really encourage me to get all enthusiastic about this special bonus to my Slayer abilities." She shook her head to get rid of her own ramblings. "But what does that have to do with what's bothering you?"  
  
"Let's just say I had one of those more pleasant visions which are so much envied by you."  
  
"You dreamed about winning the lottery? What were you going to do with all that money, buy yourself a bloodbank?"  
  
"No. Not that." And before I could help myself, I was rolling my eyes at her. "I dreamed about us. And it wasn't just dream. It was, well like I said, it was some sort of a vision." I tried to explain to her most desperately as I saw how she started to turn her eyes away. "More than a vision, that was. It was bloody real. It sits in my brains like a soddin memory."  
  
"Spike, you were stabbed by a exotic species of demon and was ailing on its venom in my mother's bedroom for hours. What else do I need to say to convince you that it wasn't real?"  
  
"You kissed me, Buffy." I said, swallowing hard. "I remember you kissing me."  
  
"Of course you remember! I've kissed you before Spike. That poison must have jiggled with your brains."  
  
"Not like that. Not like - like you really - cared. About us. Or about me."  
  
She stared at me with a pang of guilt on her face and an injured look in her eyes.  
  
"And I remember you telling me something. Something very important. You told me you loved me."  
  
"That's not real Spike." Her voice turned cold, deprived from any emotions.  
  
"It never happened."  
  
"It did happen, I remember it! As clearly as I remember how was turned or my first taste of human blood! Buffy, you told me that you loved me. You told me that I was a good man. You showed me that you cared!"  
  
"Okay, what else did I do? Did I marry you? Did we have a bunch undead kids together? Were we living in crypt with a white pickedy fence?"  
  
"Look, I can't remember anything else but that what I just told you! But it's enough."  
  
"It was a delusion, Spike! Not a vision. If this is what was keeping you here sulking in your crypt all day you really should snap out of it!"  
  
"God! I knew this was going to happen!" Yelling at her now because there was no other way for me to get rid of my frustrations. "Let me remind you that YOU wanted to know what happened to me! I didn't want to talk until you tried to drag it out of me through my nose on the pain of getting bloody dusted!"  
  
"And I'm so regretting it right now for bringing this up. Maybe I should ask Willow to make you another portion of antidote, if you're still that crazy."  
  
"I'm not crazy!" I snapped. "It was real! More real than anything else I have experienced in my life. Buffy, you have no idea how real it was."  
  
"Spike."  
  
I raised my head and stared at her. She wasn't angry with me, not really. Maybe she couldn't be after everything we have been through together.  
  
"I told you it was over between us. Please Spike. Move on. Let me move on."  
  
It was not a statement, not a question, but a plead. She was pleading to me to let it go. Forget about the feelings I ever had for her. She wanted me to forget the memory about everything that could have been between us, what still could be. She didn't understand that it was already too late for me to forget, not with that smitten of hope burning inside my dead heart. Not with the memory of her words lingering in my mind.  
  
She was moving toward the door, her hand already on the handle as I tried once more to make it clear to her. That I wouldn't give up, not in a million years.  
  
"Suppose there was a way to change all this. Would it still be impossible for you to love me?"  
  
She turned around, the blankness in her expression hiding away her feelings.  
  
"You see, I don't think the trouble lies with us, having these feelings for each other. I do believe against any better judgement that you still care. The REAL problem is - this-" And I raised my arms, gesturing around me with my hands. "All this is wrong. Ain't it? You being the Slayer is wrong. Me being a vampire is wrong. This whole entire world is soddin wrong!"  
  
"Spike -"  
  
"And don't you tell me that I'm completely out of my bloody mind again! I've seen it Buffy! I remember it! I know you can love me for who I am. If only you would be given the chance."  
  
"You can't change anything! You can't change the entire world just because you like it to be different from what it is! This is how things are. I can't change what I am, and neither can you. So stop dreaming about us. There is no us, William."  
  
"There never will be."  
  
She left soon afterward, slamming the door shut behind her, leaving me to slowly stew in my own misery. It took awhile before my mind stopped spinning and I had regained some sense of wit to answer, although by that time, she was of course no longer there anymore to hear me mutter these words to myself.  
  
"You're wrong slayer. You got it all wrong. I know I can't change the world. And I know I can't change you."  
  
"But I can change myself. I know that now."  
  
"For you, I know can." 


	24. Epilogue

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
One more struggle  
  
And I am free  
  
G. G. Byron, 1846 Richard Bachman 2003  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
EPILOGUE  
  
The room was clean and quiet, with a small window casting the glow of a lazy late-afternoon sun on the walls. Nurse Cardiff pulled on the sheets, tucking the corners neatly under the mattress. The elderly lady wasn't too concerned that her activities were going to wake up the patient who was lying in the bed. There wasn't much chance that the young man would be waken up by anything, not even a loud claxon or a complete high school fanfare marching into the room would be able to accomplish this impossible task. William August Byron had been in a catatonic state ever since that rather unfortunate incident with the ETC last autumn, and the chances for him to regain consciousness were almost non-existing. Nurse Cardiff thought that it was a terrible shame, a heartbreaking waste of a young life. She had not known her patient before he ended up in the IC ward under her care, but she thought that the young man had a most handsome face and kind, gentle features. She could only imagine that he was a most endearing boy, mistreated by fate as God Himself had deserted the poor child. So she took care of him instead, and as best as she should, washing and tending him, tucking him in at night so he wouldn't be cold, and pulling back the sheets in the afternoon, so he wouldn't be too warm. She talked to him, and sometimes, when she had done her chords and had some spare time left, she would sit by his bed and read one of her favourite novels to him. She didn't exactly know why she thought he would appreciate that, but there was something about the young boy, that told her that he liked to read. That he adored stories. Especially classics like that of Dickens, Summerset or Dumas.  
  
"Is this him? Are you sure?"  
  
Nurse Cardiff turned around and met the eyes of a dark-haired woman who had just walked into the room together with young Dr Fendman. The woman's eyes were ink-black, not a shade of brown was in there. How unnatural and how odd they looked.  
  
"Nurse Cardiff."  
  
"Yes, Dr Fendman?"  
  
"By the devil, he looks awfully pale! Whiter than a corpse even."  
  
Dr Fendman scraped his throat uncomfortably, before he continued to address the nurse.  
  
"I like to introduce you to Misses -"  
  
"It's Miss, my good doctor, mind you."  
  
"I apologise. This is Miss Lucinda Byron, miss Cardiff. She is mister Byron's aunt and possibly only remaining relative. She has travelled a great distance from England to see him."  
  
"Please to meet you, Miss Byron." She politely extended hand to the woman, which she fully ignored.  
  
"Pleasure, and do call me Luce. All my friends do. And since you take such good care of my poor little nephew, I must insist you calling me so."  
  
"It's my work to take care of the patients. Besides, William is absolutely no trouble at all."  
  
"Bet he is easy to attend. All he needs is couple of spoonful of mashed food and a sponge bath now and then. I've plants in the conservatory that need more attention and care, the poor lamb!"  
  
The woman moved toward William and for a moment, nurse Cardiff thought that she might want to give the boy a hug, but instead, she reached out with her hand, and caressed his cheek with butterfly fingers that barely seemed to touch the skin.  
  
"My poor, darling boy." She cooed. "I came as soon as possible. I know how long you've been waiting for me to bring you back. Now I'm here. Luce is here and everything is going to be all right again."  
  
She brought her mouth close to his right ear, and whispered softly so that the doctor and the nurse couldn't hear.  
  
"You thought you could just turn your back on me? After all that I've taught you? After all that I did for you? You're wrong, luv. You're mine! I have your fate in my claws!"  
  
"That's what you like to think!"  
  
She gazed up, her coal-black eyes catching sight of the spirit that had appeared at William's bedside. Dr Fendman and nurse Cardiff were both unaware of its presence, the hateful expression appearing on the face of the woman who had claimed to be the patient's aunt however, was more than clearly visible to them.  
  
"You stay away from him!"  
  
She didn´t utter a word, she didn´t have to.  
  
- Well well, isn't that something. The old spirit lingers long they say. In this case it's the dusty Victorian soul that doesn't know when or where his grave is dug. -  
  
"I knew you would try something like this! Give up Luce. He's back in Sunnydale with the slayer. Where he belongs."  
  
- Didn't you learn anything from your demon-friend? When there is still a breathing, living body, a physical form to attach his consciousness to, there is still hope. William Byron is not free from me yet. I should know, for I'm the one who's going to bring him back. -  
  
"He won't come back. He will never wake up in this place again."  
  
Luce threw her head over her slender shoulders and laughed, making the good nurse feel uneasy and Dr Fendman considering the possibility that the madness ran through the Byron family line like sap through vines.  
  
-You pathetic silly little soul! You cannot materialize yourself to save him. You don't even have any real powers! Have you forgotten who you are challenging, my boy? I am not the personification of evil. I AM evil. The source of it all, the stinking well in the desert that never dries. How DARE you to think that you could stop me from whatever I wish to do? -  
  
Her eyes flashed gold, and her smooth white skin became green and scaled. A split tongue slithered over her lips as she spat out her hate like venom. Only the soul could see her changing into this hideous creature, which was more like her true form than anything else. William stepped back from her, his appearance still calm and poised, as a small smile crept up his lips.  
  
"A fellow got to try."  
  
There was a gasp and suddenly, there was movement in bones and muscles that had not stirred for months. Nurse Cardiff caught sight of it first as she was keeping half an eye on the boy, and she saw how his eyes started to bulge and how his mouth stretched to swallow oxygen like a fish on dry land.  
  
"Dr Fendman! The patient! Something is wrong with the patient!"  
  
The doctor tore his gaze off the peculiar guest (something about her, something about her cold unnatural eyes, had mesmerized him) and turned to the catatonic young man, whose chest was heaving up and down in violent shocks. His lungs seemed to be filled with liquid, and a horrible, disgusting smell came up as a black gooey substance bubbled out of his nose and mouth.  
  
Nurse Cardiff was absolutely horrified.  
  
"Dr Fendman?!"  
  
"He's choking! My God, where does all this black stuff come from?"  
  
Luce watched how the patient lying in the bed was heaving and flopping, his face and hands turning blue while the eyes rolled over white. She uttered a scream and her black hair changed into a nest of hissing black and red ring snakes. She ran up to the soul, her upper lip pulled back in a spiteful sneer, teeth pointed and hooked.  
  
"What have you done you miserable worm?!"  
  
"Me? Nothing! Got friends in high places, you see. Although you wouldn't know, not anymore ever since they kicked you out of there."  
  
"This is NOT fair!" She shouted and looked up, careless now whether the others in the room could hear her or not; "This is NOT how it should be! You screwed up! You were the one who made the fatal mistake! You've lost your chance with this one! He should be MINE now!"  
  
Dr Fendman leaned over and breathed into the patient's mouth, ballooning up his cheeks. He breathed into his patient again and again, his hands pressing on his chest.  
  
"Breathe dammit! Breathe!"  
  
The smell of decay hit him like a slap on the back of the head. My God, he thought to himself, it was as if he was breathing into a rotting corpse.  
  
"Nurse! Call for medical assistance! He needs a tracheotomy!"  
  
"YOU BLOODY CHEATER!"  
  
"Miss, I would have to ask you to leave this room!" Dr Fendman insisted rather sternly. "The situation is critical!"  
  
`This is not over! You hear me! William Byron, you and your delusional demon friend are going to end up in the infernos of hell! I promise you that!!"  
  
"Miss! You really have to leave now!" Nurse Cardiff tried to grab the woman who was apparently hysterical by her arm to drag her outside, but to her bewilderment, her hand passed right through her, as if she was shaped out of nothing but thin air.  
  
"Good Lord in heaven." She whispered.  
  
"Oh shut up about the Cheating Old Git! I've had about enough of Him to last me the rest of the entire century!"  
  
She turned, ink black eyes glancing malignantly at the astounded nurse, her ruby lips curled into a hateful grin.  
  
"Oh, and don't bother trying to save him." She nodded toward the patient, struggling for breath. "His cards are laid, complements to that God of yours! Even I couldn't save the poor wretch from his web of intrigues. What could a bunch of worthless human beings do?"  
  
She turned around on her heels, and paced out of the room without opening the door, her body passing through the material like a beam of sunlight through the water a shallow lake. Through the small glass panel, nurse Cardiff's gaze followed her walking in the corridor, her high-heeled shoes crossly ticking on the tiles. She watched her till she disappeared again through another solid barrier, the double door at the back end, and then, she finally turned around, her face pale and her hands shaking, and staggered over to the phone to call for assistance.  
  
When they arrived, her patient had already stopped heaving and gasping and flopping. Everything had stopped, even the beating of the heart, which was the last organ to give up the futile struggle. His eyes were still open when the Dr Fendman wrote down the young man's name and filled in the time of death in the blank form, and told her to call the morgue to collect the body. After the medics had left, she was alone with him for a short while, and she had chance to say goodbye to her sweet boy. She leaned forward and carefully, she moved her fingers over his eyes, closing them.  
  
"I don't know what happened to you." She whispered, sadness straining her voice. "But I'm sure she didn't got it right. William Byron will not spend eternity in hell. God is kind and forgiving. And I do believe that you're a good boy. You will be carried away by them to a much nicer place."  
  
She placed a kiss on his damp forehead and wiped away the last tears from his cheeks. Although he had never spoken a word to her, she somehow knew that he would appreciate that. He looked like he was sleeping now, quiet and peaceful, his hands resting by his side.  
  
The spirit that had been watching over him for the last six months stood by the side of the bed. He was facing nurse Cardiff, and saw how the kind woman kept caring for him till the very last moment. Although the he was not visible to her, it seemed that she could still sense his presence. She stayed in the room, and took a book from the nightstand. A copy of David Copperfield. The corners of the pages were curled and the cover was worn. She sat down beside his bed and opened it on page 246.  
  
"It will take a while before they get here. So maybe I can keep you company and read a little to you."  
  
She read to him in that quiet little room, while the sun stretched the barred shadow of the window and the yellow glow cast on the walls turned to orange, then red. it was only after sunset, when William Byron's soul had finally departed from this world, that she closed the book and placed it back. The entire space seemed much darker now, and much, much colder. Quietly, she stood up and walked out of the room, closing the door behind her.  
The End. 


End file.
